05.02 - Bad Moon Rising

A mysterious death, a strange coincidence, an arranged marriage, Thanksgiving, and an unexpected connection. Just another week in Toronto.

Warning: Arranged marriages against people's will occurs here, and mentioned is the abuse that is not uncommon in those situations. This chapter contains an amalgamation of events that happen daily in real life, and is not intended as an attack on any one group of people.


It was Thanksgiving. Not Halloween.

"This reminds me that my daughter took down a clown last year," muttered Holly, looking at the dead body.

It was mere hours before her Thanksgiving vacation. Holly's father was due in tomorrow. Vivian and Jamie promised to come (Jamie looking semi-secretly excited). Steve and Traci were going to be there. Elaine and Gordo would also be present.

A great big Thanksgiving, celebrating the beginning of October and the weather being crisp and beautiful. Gail had planned a divine menu with pork and a tarte au sucre and god knew what else, but Vivian had signed herself and Jamie up for a half-marathon the morning before, and Vivian had agreed to run a five K with Holly the day after. Because Vivian was a jock.

And yet instead of cleaning out her in box and setting everything up for a week off, Holly was staring at a dead pirate.

"This is a pirate," said Taylor Glinta.

"You have no imagination." Holly rolled her eyes. "I will grant you that the costume is a bit much for the season."

Taylor nodded. "It's early."

"But?" She knew her staff well and Taylor was one of Holly's best pathologists. He wouldn't have called her here for an out of season cosplay death by misadventure.

"It's the eyes." Taylor leaned over and opened one for Holly's perusal. He was incredibly careful about it, more so than normal.

"Petechial hemorrhaging." Holly frowned and looked closer. "Jaundiced too. Is he a drug user?"

"I haven't started the tox because..." Taylor opened the other eye and it was sunken.

Reflexively, Holly grimaced. "Ew. Okay, what happened there?"

"I touched it."

What the what, as Gail would say. "Sorry. You touched it?"

"There was an eyepatch, and I was taking it off, prepping the body, and I saw a thread on his eye, so I plucked it off and... Fluid just leaked right out."

That was gross, Holly had to admit. And abnormal. Eyes on freshly dead didn't behave like that. "Samples?"

Taylor held up a jar. "I wanted you here before I mess with the other."

"No. Yeah, that's a good idea. But..." Holly hesitated. "The field test for dangerous substances was negative?"

"The oh god oh god we're all gonna die check? Yes, it was fine." Taylor smirked. "What was it like before then? Ever get stuck in the lab on a lockdown?"

"Besides my brush with Ebola?"

Taylor paled. "Oh god. I meant a funny joke about you getting locked in here with Gerald and... god. I'm sorry."

But Holly smiled. "I knew what you meant. And no, but Gail did," admitted Holly. "Not the lab exactly. She was exposed to a virus and they put all of Fifteen on lockdown." That was the first she'd ever heard of Gail, actually. The poor officer who had been exposed.

Taylor chuckled. "I'm picturing Inspector Peck being locked down, and I bet everyone wanted to kill her."

"Curiously not." Holly pulled on full protective gear none the less and turned on the camera. "Okay. We are recording this for posterity."

The other pathologist nodded and very carefully opened the eye again and tapped it lightly. The eyeball made an incredible squish sound and dropped in, liquid oozing out.

"That's what happened the first time," said Taylor.

"That is disgusting. And awesome." Holly took the sample herself, sniffing the body as she did so. "Does he smell sweet to you?"

"Ketoacidosis?"

Holly glanced up. "Does he have diabetes?"

"Not that I know of. Nothing in his medical jacket." Taylor pulled off his gloves and tapped on the computer. "He didn't have an ID and his prints haven't had a hit yet. Field blood work didn't show any signs but I'll check it again."

It amused Holly that the reason there were field checks like that, to make sure someone didn't have a nasty blood borne pathogen, was because of her own exposure. That had been a particularly gruesome day as well. More a gruesome week. And yet sometimes it still felt like it had happened to another person, or another life.

"It doesn't smell fruity, but there's something else. I'm going to get the sniffer."

"Cyranose or your kid?"

"Bite me," said Holly, cheerfully, and she pulled off her gloves to call the lab and ask someone to bring the device by. "What do we know about him?"

"Well he died in the back of a cop car," started Taylor. "Officers Aronson and Moore picked him up by UoT. He was acting peculiar outside a frat."

How odd did someone have to act by a frat for people to consider it peculiar, she wondered. "And he died on the way in?"

"Yeah, seized up this morning. Officer Moore tried to resuscitate in the parking lot at Fifteen. Must have been a hell of a morning..."

"Pretty normal for Fifteen."

"They're kinda a hotbed for stupidity," agreed Taylor. "Anyway, I picked up the body and brought it in, and here we are. Haven't even searched the clothes yet, I was just starting."

Holly sighed a little. This was going to suck. "Well. Let's do this together, shall we?"

It was a job well below her pay grade. Initial review of the body, removing evidence, cleaning, and prepping for an autopsy was work she'd graduated from before she'd even met Gail. While she didn't dislike it in and of itself, it made her back hurt. Time to face the facts. Holly was old.

"Why don't I do it and you supervise?" Taylor looked at her apologetically.

In the briefest moment of hesitation, Taylor gave her a look. Yeah. "Normally I'd be offended," Holly grumbled, "but this isn't a self raising table." And she pulled up a stool to watch.

"When do we get the rest of the tables swapped out?"

"If we're lucky, end of the year."

Taylor nodded. "Ruth threatened us about letting you hurt your back again, just FYI."

A smile crossed Holly's face, unbidden. "She claims she didn't threaten."

"Yeah, well she's terrifying."

"That," said Holly firmly, "That is why I hired her."


"I can't believe he won't talk," groaned Gail, slouching on Andy's couch.

The sergeant sighed loudly. "If you're just here to bitch about your case, Gail, I actually have work to do."

"Budget is not work."

Andy said nothing until Gail looked up. "You're a brat, Gail. Why are you here?"

"Because I'm bored, Andy," said Gail, and she slouched further. "I can't solve my case and Holly isn't answering her phone."

"I hate you." Andy looked actually angry. "And I hate budgets. Why the hell didn't anyone tell me this was a part of being in charge?"

"Most adults have to be aware of and balance budgets, McNally. Didn't you do that when you and Nicholas were buying the condo?"

Andy glared. "Why did I ever think you were nice?"

"Not a clue." Gail slid to the side and stretched out over Andy's couch. "So. How are the new rooks?"

With a groan, Andy closed her laptop. "They're okay. Why'd you miss the cuffing?"

That had been the month before. August. Where was she... "Oh. Holiday. Belated birthday trip with Holly." They'd gone to a winery and a B&B in Newfoundland, of all places. Gail wanted to go to Greece, but Holly argued she'd rather after she retired.

Which was going to happen sooner rather than later.

"I should do that," muttered Andy.

"You should."

When Andy was silent for a while, Gail looked up again. "That's the nicest thing you've said to me in a while."

"Hey, I can be nice," snarled Gail in response.

"And there's the Gail Peck I know and love." Andy rolled her eyes. "I'm not asking to borrow your cabin."

Gail laughed. "After the disaster when you and basset hound borrowed Ollie's? Hell no. You're a trouble magnet, McNally."

"Says the woman who just got held hostage in a salon."

"Would you have left?"

Andy looked grim. "No. No I wouldn't have." But she seemed to understand. "How do we keep doing this, Gail?"

Making a face, Gail closed her eyes. "Which part, Andy?"

"The part where we keep trying and trying and everyone hates us?"

"You know why they hate us," she pointed out.

"Yeah but... " Andy trailed off.

The absolute last thing Gail wanted to do was ask Andy fucking McNally how she was feeling. And yet. "So. Ah. What happened?"

Andy was quiet and then admitted. "I went to the professional women thingy you always ditch."

Oh. Gail sat up. "Jesus, McNally, I told you not to."

The event was a shit show. Gail went with her mother as a youth, and then spent most of her young adult life avoiding it. When she'd made detective, Gail hadn't been speaking to Elaine, and Holly hadn't cared, so no one made her go. But then. Then she hit head of major crimes, and Inspector, and Elaine was alive and so was Uncle Al and Gail found herself forced into the event.

It was horrible. Hundreds of women, mostly slaves to the patriarchy in their own way, or institutionalized feminists, were all there sucking up to the status quo. And most of them hated the police, because even a successful woman on the force was clearly The Man. Which was hilarious to Gail, in the morbid way she enjoyed most humour, since everyone else was only as feminist as it benefitted them.

The simple idea that Gail was actually doing a good thing for no personal gain was beyond them. Thankfully Gail had her shield of indifference and sword of sarcasm. Andy McNally was unarmed in their battle of wits. Andy believed that women would stick together and defend each other, and women (white women) couldn't all be that bad.

Sometimes Gail wondered if they'd weathered the same 2010 and 2020s.

Well. They had survived them, which is more than Gail could say for a lot of people. The problem was that the women who still went to those insipid events were the women Gail wanted to strangle, and whom Holly would help her cover up.

White women feminists.

A greater scourge on humanity the world had never known.

And yes, Gail was aware of the irony of her, the whitest woman to see sunlight, saying that.

"I get why you ditch," admitted Andy. "They're ... Okay, we're friends, right?"

"For lack of a better word, yes."

"Right, but you're still a bitch to me most of the time. You're not a nice person a lot. Sorry."

Gail shrugged. Nothing Andy said was untrue. "Your point?"

"You're not mean."

Sometimes Gail wondered if people ever actually saw her. Besides Holly of course. The fact that Andy idiot McNally saw her, saw she was a good person, was sort of shocking. Instead of addressing that revelation, Gail shrugged again. "And they are some right cranky bitches there, yeah. I did warn you."

Andy sighed deeply and nodded. "You did. I just... I thought you were being you. You hate shared experiences and people."

"People," said Gail slowly, "generally suck."

"Yeah, yeah they do," grumped Andy. "Next year, you and me and Holly and Traci go drinking?"

"Professional, successful, women who don't suck?" Gail smirked.

"Well. You suck," said Andy, grinning.

And Gail laughed.


Yawning, Vivian toyed with Jamie's hair.

"Really? A yawn?"

"Mmm. Sleepy," mumbled Vivian.

Anyone sane would be sleepy after a day securing a 50 story building following a bomb threat, in full kit no less, only to find that the mysterious, unattended, ticking bag was a stupid kid present. A vibrating bouncy ball.

Vivian had wanted to shove it up the ass of the office worker who sheepishly confessed to forgetting it earlier. Not only would Smith not let her do that, he wouldn't even press charges and fine the man, instead calling it training costs. And then everyone had to take the stairs back down again. God damn it.

Then when she'd gotten back to Fifteen, there had been a dead man in Gerald's cruiser, putting half of the division on lockdown. Including the Sally Port. Which meant ETF couldn't get in to change gear for almost an hour.

When she'd gotten home, cranky and sweaty and in a pissy mood, Jamie had made her eat and shower, and then god bless the firefighter, given Vivian a massage. Mostly on her legs, which were really what was killing her at the moment. Somewhere down the line though, the massage had become a little more suggestive, and one thing had led to another. As they so often did.

No one Vivian had met had sex quite as often as her mothers. Not even today. Rich, who bragged about sleeping around, still didn't get laid as much, and it was really sort of amusing to Vivian. As a child it had been a bit gross, but then again kissing was gross so everything else was extra. Then, eventually, Vivian came to understand that there was some merit in kissing, and in pretty girls.

And now, here she was, a full grown adult, with a very pretty, naked girl, in her bed.

"You're smirking," said Jamie, very cheerfully.

"I have a really hot girl in my bed," Vivian replied, sleepily.

Jamie hummed her approval. "This is much better than grumpy cat Vivian."

"I'm a grumpy cat?"

"Yeah, you're just anti-everything when you're in a bad mood. You get very quiet, too."

"How's that a cat?"

"You do know the grumpy cat meme, right?"

Vivian flipped Jamie the bird without opening her eyes.

"Are you flipping me off?"

"Yes."

"Idiot." But Jamie was laughing. "You're such a goon, Vivian."

"Yes, but you like me."

Jamie sighed and squeezed Vivian. "I do. I do like you very much, my giant, trips over her own feet, big hearted goon." Then she added. "Even if she's a massive Monday hating Garfield."

Vivian blinked her eyes open. "What?"

"Garfield? The cat with lasagna and hates Jon?"

"Yeah. No." Vivian sighed. "I told you, I don't watch TV."

Jamie smothered a laugh into Vivian's skin. "Oh my god. It's a comic strip."

"What? In newspapers? Who the hell reads papers!"

"They collect them into books, you ... oh my god." She laughed. "You've read Doonesbury."

"S'a political cartoon."

"You... you are an elitist intellectual snob," Jamie joked.

"I like girls who know Mussolini isn't a vegetable."

Jamie snickered. "I've heard that joke before."

"Fine. I like girls who know Bichon Frise isn't a salad dressing."

Her girlfriend hesitated. "Wait, that's the dog, right?"

"Very good. You may remain naked in my bed."

"Good to know, Grumpy Cat."

"Ugh. Wait'll you catch Gail in a mood. I'm nothing compared to her."

"I can only imagine." Jamie shifted and slid off Vivian, stretching out on her own side of the bed. "How does Holly put up with it? She seems like a saint."

"Holly is wonderful, but she's no angel."

"Really? She's patient and kind and hugs people and laughs."

"And trash talks. You played Cards Against Humanity with her," pointed out Vivian.

"True, but she was drunk at the time."

Vivian snorted a laugh. "She's also an obsessive workaholic with a morbid sense of humour who absolutely cannot explain sex to a seven year old. They're a match made in hell."

"Oh she thinks Gail's funny?"

"She thinks Gail's views on the world are accurate. They hate people, they hate shared experiences, they hate fake happiness. They love making digs at people, but they're both insanely dedicated." Vivian rolled to her side and snuggled into her pillow. "Hate liars most of all."

Jamie chuckled. "For someone so sleepy, you sure are chatty."

"Go to sleep."

"There's my girl." Jamie ruffled Vivian's hair.


The autopsy lasted hours and hours. It was later, much later than she wanted to be home, when she finished and all Holly had was a quiet house and more questions. The body had so many unique idiosyncrasies that it was like a training scenario her old mentor used to dump on her. He'd jam a dummy full of possible deaths, all but one of which was wrong. It was annoying and stupid and frustrating.

As she slipped into the bedroom, a sleepy Gail grumbled. "What time is it?"

"Eleven, go back to sleep." It was closer to midnight than eleven, but that was besides the point.

Gail huffed and rolled over, her breathing dropping back into the regular, deep, sound of sleep. She must have been tired, realized Holly. Normally Gail asked if Holly had at least eaten. What had Gail's day been like? Well, if the dead body had happened in Fifteen's parking lot, then IA had to have been involved and Gail would have been dragged down to help.

Quickly showering, and washing her hair, Holly didn't get into the bed until after midnight, with the clear knowledge that she had to be back at her office no later than nine the next morning. And her father was coming into town tomorrow. No. Today. Ugh.

Making all of it worse, Holly was still wired and keyed up just thinking about the oddities of the case. Death had been a heart attack, and that was the easy part. The cause of the heart attack was what they didn't know.

Symptoms included heart attack, strange pressure behind the eyeballs, causing an eruption of fluid. It was not, as people might think, vitreous humour. Something else had caused an abnormal build up of fluid behind the eye, which would have progressed to a macular edema and a monster headache, before killing the man. Or making his eye pop out. Both of which were pretty fucking gross.

The petechial hemorrhage in the eyes was obviously related to that. The pressure behind the eyes wouldn't have killed though. That had to come from whatever cut off oxygen to the brain. Which had also been gooey.

"Fuck, Holly, go to sleep," groaned Gail, pulling a pillow over her head.

Holly blushed. "Sorry. Am I thinking too loud?"

"You're solving crime." Gail sighed and lifted the pillow off. "I do love that about you. But Jesus it's midnight. Your dad's gonna be here tomorrow. Which I am happy for. But..."

"But I should shut my head off, I know. I know." Holly grimaced. "I caught a weird one."

With a suffering grunt, Gail turned on her light. "Okay, Stewart. Talk to me."

She hesitated a moment. They had played this scenario out a hundred— no a thousand times. One of them would be stuck on a case, be up all night, and the other would help them work through it. It was one of the things they did.

"The John Doe who died at Fifteen," she started, simply.

"That got you?" Gail sounded surprised. Holly was loath to put her glasses on, so all she saw was a movement of the blonde head.

"Well..." She hesitated again. "Okay, its gross and you may not sleep."

Gail snorted. "Holly, I love you. Do I look like I'm sleeping now?"

Okay, fine, she had a point. "When Taylor went to undress the body, his eyeball squished out a lot of fluid."

"Ew," muttered Gail, appreciatively. "That is not normal."

"No, it wasn't. So Taylor got me and the other eye did the same thing, so I supervised the whole autopsy."

"How's your back?"

Holly filed away the warm feeling cause by Gail worrying about her health in the most casual and basic of ways. What a wonderful woman. What a great wife Gail had become. It was the kind of moment that made Holly want to kick Nick (and even Chris, may he Rest In Peace) in the balls for making Gail think she was a terrible girlfriend.

"Supervised. I'm fine. I sat the whole time." She'd make a fuss to thank Gail for worrying about her later.

"Good. Okay, so what did you find?"

"He died of suffocation, cause as yet unknown. But his brain was more liquified than normal, as if something destabilized its integrity. And the lungs were partly filled with what appears to be the same fluid as came from behind the eyes. All the joints had excess fluid. We drained them and are sampling them all. And his blood. Oh and he smells sweet."

"Diabetic?"

God, Holly loved when Gail was smart. Even at midnight when she was cranky and would rather be sleeping (Gail's second love, right after food), Gail was smart. Holly grinned and leaned over to kiss Gail's cheek. "No. Not according to field tests, but we're doing a full panel."

"Well there goes your week," said Gail acerbically.

"Taylor's week. I'll pick it up when it comes back."

"But you hate unsolved cause of deaths. And what caused the fluid?"

"Not a damn clue."

Gail made a noise. "That sucks." She hesitated, a pregnant pause filling the room. "You know Brian will understand, right?"

Of course Brian would understand that his workaholic, obsessive daughter was working over the Thanksgiving break. "I'd still feel bad," she muttered.

"No you don't," scoffed Gail. "You feel bad that you would rather be working. I know you, Stewart."

"I hate guilt." Holly crossed her arms and huffed.

"So don't feel guilty." Gail replied, guilelessly. She really was innocent as she said it, too. "Look, I know who I married. I understand. Brian understands. Vivian understands and she'll explain to Jamie, who runs into fucking buildings on fire, so she doesn't get a vote."

Holly sighed and shook her head. "It's not that easy."

"It can be." Gail shifted in the bed, making a space for Holly to lie down along side her. "Look, come here."

Hesitating, Holly scooted in and settled her head on Gail's shoulder. They had lain like that a thousand times over a thousand days and nights. Holly still remembered the first time they'd slept in the same bed. Their bodies had moved towards each other in the night, a demonstration of the gravity of their relationship, though Holly hadn't realized that at the time.

She always cuddled in her sleep. Her parents, her exes, all said that Holly liked to touch people and be held in her sleep. But Gail, she was told a few months into their rebooted relationship, was apparently not a sleep cuddler. It was Chris who had mentioned it, in passing, that he didn't miss Gail sleep shoving him out of bed. Nick had laughed and asked if Chris had ever woken up to find the pillows wedged between them. And then they'd looked at Holly.

It bewildered her at first. Because Gail always touched her in the night. Holly couldn't count the mornings that she'd woken up to find Gail pressed up against her back or a pale arm draped over her waist. Sometimes it was just their legs, tangled up. But Gail not only didn't object to Holly's bed hogging snuggling, she appeared to enjoy and revel in it. Except when she'd broken her ribs, but that was understandable.

And here they were. Gail was on her back, her arm around Holly's shoulders, holding them close together. Holly was on her side, snuggled up to Gail, her head on Gail's shoulder. Calm. Quiet. Safe.

"How's this supposed to make me feel less guilty?"

"It's not. It's supposed to calm you down and shut your head up so you can sleep and solve science tomorrow, and not be late for your dad."

"That's a nice theory but—"

"Listen to my heartbeat, wouldya?"

Holly smiled and closed her eyes, listening. Gail's heartbeat was steady. It was a rhythm Holly had all but memorized. The thumping was relaxed, the beat of Gail at her calmest outside of actual meditation. Once Gail had let Holly record her heart rate during meditation, just to see how different it was to the times Holy usually heart it. Most of the time, if Holly was in this sort of position, they were resting or had just had sex. When meditating, Gail's heart rate dropped even more, an amazingly slow and steady and calm beat.

With a deep sigh, Holly found herself soothed by her wife's heart. Which was probably what Gail wanted in the first place. It was so easy to let the rhythm sooth and relax her.

And she fell asleep.


The second Brian looked at her, he snorted. "Okay, where is she?"

"In the lab trying to solve a mystery, where else?" Gail smirked. "Unless you mean the kid. She's probably trying to open a rock with a soda can or whatever the hell ETF does on their down days."

Her father in law laughed. "That girl is as obsessive as Holly and eats like you."

"She really doesn't," remarked Gail, taking Brian's suitcase.

"No I suppose not." Brian sighed. "How's ETF really working out for her?"

Gail blinked, surprised. "She didn't say?"

"Oh she did, she said it was great, but she's like Holly. Edits to make me feel better."

Yeah. That was definitely Vivian. "She's actually doing really well. She's mostly on bombs, but she's been a part of a raid a few times."

Brian shook his head. "That does terrify me, Gail. You know that, right?"

"Shit, it terrifies me." Gail led Brian to the parking lot. She'd taken advantage of her badge to secure an easy to get to location. Had it been for anyone else, she might not have bothered, but Brian hated travel so much it was something she could do to help.

"Holding up okay?"

"Me or Holly?"

"You're a matched pair," Brian pointed out, amused.

They were, too. "I'm okay. I think. Holly's handling it better." Gail frowned and auto unlocked the trunk. "Why is she so much better at that?"

Brian sighed and leaned against the car. "That's a good question. I have no idea, but she always has been."

"I guess that's fair. I have no idea why my kid is so self-contained." A lot more about people made sense once Gail had her own daughter. Seeing a person grown from child to teen to adult was fascinating. And horrifying. They grew in unpredictable ways.

"Not to play armchair psychologist, but something else, beyond just seeing her father shoot himself, had to have happened."

"Birth father." Gail corrected it out of reflex and was surprised to see Brian's startled reaction. "Haven't you noticed? She never calls them anything other than her birth parents or her biological family."

There was an exception of course. Once in a while, Vivian would talk about her sister Kimberly. Kimmy. At this point, nearly twenty years later, Vivian's memories were pretty scant. But she had a photo of Kimmy eating ice cream on a porch step. The same steps Vivian had climbed to walk into a house and watch her father die.

Sometimes Gail wished that house, that whole block would burn down and be gone. Then the memories would fade. And, eventually, Vivian's aunt would die and then that story would end. There would be no more abuse. There would be no more mistreatment of children. The family was gone, and the remaining, the survivors, would move on.

It was in that way that Gail knew Vivian would never have biological children. She was too terrified of being the person her parents and grandparents were. A logical, understandable fear when one thought about it. The fact that April Stone (née Green) had a biological daughter still astounded Gail, frankly.

Brian, like Holly, stalled for time when recognizing an uncomfortable truth. This time he did it by carefully buckling up. "I hadn't noticed. Do you think... is she still mad at them?"

"Probably. I would be. But I hold a damn fine grudge."

Her father in law laughed. "You are pretty good at that."

They lapsed into comfortable silence as Gail left the airport. It was one of the many things she really liked about Brian. He, like Holly was someone Gail could be quiet around. He didn't fill the void with words. He was thoughtful and intelligent and was comfortable in the silence. That was hard to find.

As they rounded into Gail's little neighbourhood, Brian asked, "How come you never moved to the suburbs?"

"I grew up in them. Hated it." Gail shook her head. "This is as close as I could stand."

"Huge house with a yard... I can't imagine how you found it."

"Well. There was a dead guy in the backyard. No one wanted it after that." Gail smirked.

"You're so damn opportunistic." But Brian was laughing.

That was the other reason Gail liked Brian. He had a good sense of humour and a good heart. Holly was so much like him, tempered by Lily of course, that Gail simply enjoyed being around the man.

When they got to the house, it was empty. "Doctor Stewart, your daughter is a workaholic," announced Gail, eyeing Holly's parking spot.

"Inspector Peck, your wife is an obsessed scientist." Brian shook his head. "I'd apologize, but I would like to hide in your guest room and finish my paper."

Gail rolled her eyes. He'd be napping and they both knew it. "Call it jetlag. I'll wake you up for dinner."

"I appreciate that." He paused. "Are the girls coming over?"

"Vivian is. Jamie's working but she's got the rest of the week off. Apparently she got Thanksgiving and New Years this year, but has to work Christmas."

"That's too bad. I gather she liked Christmas."

"She does, but she's a rookie, Brian."

"Yeah? How come you never worked Christmas when you were a rookie detective?"

Gail laughed and parked the car. "I used to work every holiday, and twice on long weekends, to avoid my parents."

Her father-in-law eyed her as they got out of the car. "Elaine told me a bit about Bill. I'm sorry you had to grow up with that."

"I'm not." Gail leaned on her car. "See. If I didn't have him, if he didn't act like he did, I wouldn't be me. And maybe, yeah, I would have figured out the whole bi thing earlier, and fallen for Holly, but maybe not. Maybe I would have been too scared to do anything about it... everything..." She took a deep breath. "Everything happened for a reason, Brian. Even the shitty parts. They made me who I am, and they made me be in the right place at the right time to meet the most wonderful person I've ever known. I can still be pissed at my Dad for all this, but I'm who I am because of him."

Brian frowned. "You don't think you'd be you if maybe you hadn't felt like you had to volunteer?"

"For the undercover op, you mean? No." Gail grabbed the suitcase. "I'm a cop, Brian. I would have wanted to volunteer for that op no matter what. I was perfect for the job, I fit the MO, I was exactly the right person. That ... that service probably wouldn't change, just the reasons behind it."

They walked into the house, Brian silently contemplating all that. Gail didn't mind talking about that aspect of Perik. And he'd certainly been on her mind a lot lately. Being held hostage had brought up a lot of her old fears and doubts. Only a fool wasn't afraid of death, and only an idiot wasn't afraid of the kind of life she lived.

People shot at her, punched her, hit her with radios, crashed her car, and threw slushies.

People targeted Gail for the badge, the uniform, and the things she stood for.

But through it all, through the dark and the danger and the pain, Gail was still a police officer. And even if she retired, she would always be a police officer. Gail was born, bred, and raised to be of service to Toronto. Her family had done their duty to the city since its existence, and they would continue to do so for a while longer.

Holly worried, rightly so, about how long Gail could do the job, and it wasn't a comment on Gail's personal abilities. The world had changed since the first officer Peck had put on his badge and stepped into a dangerous street. The world had changed since Elaine and Bill squabbled over an arrest. The world had changed since Gail traded her uniform for a suit. More or less.

The world was more dangerous, more complicated, more overtly fraught with danger. The world was full of pain and angst and horrors. It took a lot more to stomach it and go back out, day after day after day, than it had ten or twenty years ago. It would only get harder. And there was going to be a limit to how far Gail could go, and she knew that too well.

Today, at least, wasn't that day.

For now, Gail would remain Detective Inspector Gail Peck.


The last shift before her holiday was decidedly on the list of the worst Vivian had ever had, and yes that was counting watching a man blow his own head off in front of her. But there she was, standing on the roof of a university dorm, on her own. Well. Not on her own. A young woman, a few years younger than Vivian at least, was standing in front of the wiring box, looking terrified.

And right now, she was probably going to get her ear chewed off for taking her helmet off. But the all hands on had been for a sighting of an armed gunman and a possible hostage by the name of Semra, a 17 year old freshman. Whose picture looked just like the young woman in front of Vivian. And who was not held hostage at all.

Something weird was going on.

"Hey," said Vivian, quietly, putting her helmet down carefully. "You're Semra, right?"

The student, Semra, nodded and stared at her. Thankfully she was nowhere near the building's edge. Talking someone off a literally edge was something Vivian had been trained in, but she'd never done it before.

"You don't have a gun," she said, confused.

Vivian blinked and almost reached for her sidearm. "Oh you mean a rifle? No. No, I'm tech." She half lifted her left arm and glanced past Semra and at the cell phone repeater. "You take that out?"

The whole reason Vivian was up there was that the roof, having supposedly been cleared by a visual inspection by uniforms, was the location of a dead zone. Something had broken the cell repeater, bouncing signals back on themselves, and causing the local area to be overloaded. No ones phones were working. And worse, since people piggybacked on wifi, if had caused that system to crash.

Sometimes Vivian doubted she was living in the future, because it sure as hell wasn't well built.

Semra turned and looked at the repeater, which was still powered on from what Vivian could tell. "Cops have tech?"

"Yeah, yeah we do."

"What... What does cop tech do?"

"Overtake surveillance systems, mostly. Hijack them so criminals can't, or use them to monitor their activity." Vivian paused. "So. Someone cleared the roof. And the door was locked. How'd you get here?"

Semra flushed. "They weren't very good."

Oh. That probably meant Goff. Awesome. "So noted. You've been hiding up here?"

The girl nodded. "Are you going to arrest me?"

"Uh. Should I?"

Glancing at the wiring box, which the cell repeater was plugged into, Semra nodded. "Destruction of school property."

"Yeah, no. I don't arrest people for that. It's like a $500 fine or something." Vivian shrugged. "I just kinda need to fix it, so we can stop making dispatch have a coronary."

As Vivian took a half step towards the box, Semra darted to block her path. "No... I can't. You can't."

Vivian arched her eyebrows. "If someone's trying to hurt you, I can help."

But the girl laughed. And god, Vivian knew that laugh. She'd heard it her first week in the system. An older boy had laughed like that when he'd been brought back, bruised and bloody. Social Services promised to help. They'd stop the bullying. And the boy laughed. And five year old Vivian Green understood then and there that the bullies were the family that boy had been placed with.

That was the laugh of someone already inured to systemic abuse.

Seventeen. Terrified. Laughing at the idea of help.

Vivian's face slid into a scowl. "Parents, huh?"

And Semra jerked her head back. "Wha- What?"

It was weird how the obvious story unfolded. "Did you call in the gunman or did they?"

"What gunman? What!?"

"Oh god." Vivian wanted to cover her face with her hands and laugh at the insanity of it all. "Okay. So someone called in a report of an armed gunman on campus, who had possibly taken a missing girl hostage."

Semra was stunned. "Me?"

"Yeah. I'm guessing you were up here to ... break the phone for your dorm? Then if you're smart, which seeing as you know how to bust the repeater you are, switch to a burner phone and run off with ... a friend?" Vivian shook her head.

"Meryem. We ..." The girl paused and wailed. "We don't want to get married!"

God damn it. The future sucked. Why the hell did people still do this? Kids should never be forced into marriage. "Okay. Okay, Semra. I want to help you. Please. Both of you."

Semra paused. "Is she alright?"

Vivian shook her head. "I don't know. My signal to my team broke when I got up here. And I gotta be honest, they're probably going to freak out soon."

Semra looked confused. "Why would I break? I only took out the cell range."

"You made it bounce, which crashed the signal and the wifi."

It was pleasant to watch Semra catch on and look embarrassed. "Oh.. oh I didn't..." And to Vivian's delight, the girl turned and did something to the wires.

A heartbeat passed and the radio in her head jumped to life. "No reply from Peck. Saun, take your team up."

"This is Peck, I'm fine. My radio fried a bit," she said right away. "Repeat. This is Peck, 4727. Stand down. Repeat. Stand. Down. Do you read?"

"Copy, Peck. Stand down, everyone. Stand down. What the fuck happened?"

Vivian hesitated. "Well. I found our hostage. The armed gunman is a hoax. It's a YO runaway."

Someone laughed on the wire. Probably Duane or Eric. "10-73?" An elopement.

"No. Other way around I bet."

"Ah shit," said Jules Smith. Vivian would know that angry cuss anywhere. "Okay, I'll get on the parents. You talk her down. We're taking her away though."

"Copy that, boss. I may have an additional." Vivian looked at Semra. "What's Meryem's last name and where can we find her?"

Semra looked uncertain. "How... how do I know I can trust you?"

Vivian sighed. "You really don't. I get that. But I don't need to be a doctor or a genius to know your parents are abusing you somehow. And that... that isn't okay."

Looking away, Semra shook her head. "We're refugees. They'll send us away."

"No," said Vivian, feeling certain about that. "Maybe your parents, but Semra. You're a kid. And you don't deserve to be forced into anything."

After a tense moment, Semra gave the details and Vivian passed them on to Julian and Sabrina. She wasn't allowed to ride back to the station with the girls, so she made the choice to call in a favour on the van ride back in.

Anne, her old social worker, was waiting at the station with a woman Vivian vaguely remembered as Lauralee. And the shoe dropped. Lauralee had also been one of Sophie's social workers, but had moved on to specialize in immigration abuse. Not people who broke the law, but things like immigrant wives, or things that Vivian would have called human trafficking. Why it wasn't, she'd never know.

There was also a weird blush every time Gail talked about Lauralee that had never been explained. Looking at Lauralee now, Vivian had a theory. Her mother was so damn transparent.

The women were in the ETF ready room. "Do you know how how big this is?" Lauralee was scowling.

"Older sister already married?" Vivian pulled off her jacket and kit. "And do I need to change into my uniform?"

"No," said Anne. "Butch and dangerous is better. Smith already gave his permission."

No doubt Julian would have 'words' for Vivian later. But why would they need her... "Are here parents here?"

"They're in interrogation. Inspector Price is on them."

Good. Chloe was good. "Then why?"

"Meryem's sister. Her husband is making a stink at the front desk and she's too afraid to leave McNally's office," explained Anne.

And the big, bad, ETF cop who was a woman would be intimidating. Right. Vivian nodded and pulled on her light jacket. Ready for field work, but not bullet proof. She shouldn't need it in the station. Hopefully. Someone had once shot up the third floor, after all.

As they walked to Andy's office, Lauralee explained. "Turns out the whole family has been doing this since the late 1990s. Most of the women were brought over as refugees or from poor families."

"I thought that was mostly women from India and Pakistan." Vivian frowned and reassessed what she'd said. "And now I feel racist."

Anne smirked but not unkindly. "You're not wrong. And it was when you were younger. The wars after the destabilization of America were pretty messed up."

Vivian sighed. "I cannot believe they actually elected that shit bag," she grumbled. It had been years, but no one Vivian knew had ever been a fan of the 45th President of the United States. Gail had cackled when Trudeau cock-blocked his attempt at a 'manful' handshake.

"His threats about NATO didn't help the situation in the Middle East," pointed out Lauralee. "We had a shocking influx of this sort of behaviour, as the more fundamentalist groups moved around."

"But 1990 .. that's a long time."

"It is," agreed Lauralee. And she opened the door to Andy's office.

Meryem had a black eye.

The sister was barely older, and had two children. Two.

Semra was the only one who looked relieved when Vivian walked in. "You came."

"I promised I'd help," said Vivian, putting her heart and sincerity into the words. She shoved down the bubbling rage as best she could, but felt it lighting her veins on fire.

That had been harder the last few years. There was something about learning of her birth family that had opened a floodgate to anger Vivian had never been familiar with before. She didn't like it in the slightest. She didn't like how it made her think.

Dr. Cooper had offered some advice and some help. Guiding Vivian through the surge of feelings. Trying to make sense of a family that didn't want her. Teaching her to survive this new stage of life and not let it hurt her loved ones.

Even if Vivian had not yet made sense of her life and her feelings, she could do something to help people more. And at least that gave her some purpose.


Her workday was hectic and bizarre and satisfying, all in one. And damn, but didn't Holly feel like a fucking genius? She and Taylor had started in the lab early, getting to work before six, and studiously processed the clothes and trace removed from their John Doe pirate.

The work was menial on many levels. It was below Holly's pay grade, certainly. But when a case was as weird as that one had been, she had a need to be hands on. They went through each item of clothing and carefully inspected every layer and every lining. They documented everything. Around lunch, which a mysterious benefactor had sent over (probably Gail), they went back over the body again.

And that was why Holly finally had an answer. The poor fellow had suffered an allergic reaction to something. And based on the needle marks in his arms and the state of his liver, he'd been addicted to drugs for quite a while. No doubt something new had been laced with something horrible, causing an idiosyncratic reaction.

None of that was why Holly felt like the smartest woman in the world, though.

No, that was reserved for recognizing a connection between her dead man and a fellow who was in detention for holding a cop and some salon customers hostage for a few hours. A pill casing, found in the dead pirate's pocket, was out of place. It also had trace evidence Holly had seen before, glancing at the filed work by Wanda, who had picked up the case of Gail's Keith Doe (for lack of a name).

The cases were, somehow, connected by a new drug and a new pill and some trace that didn't show up anywhere else. But the rest would have to wait a long weekend, while science did its thing and finished processing. All the computers in the world were faster now than they had been when Holly started her work in the early 2000's, but the volume of data had surprised all expectations.

Basically it took forever and a day to get at all the information and connect the dots, even when automated.

That meant Holly and Taylor went home and spent a thoughtful, though relatively stress-from-work free, holiday. Except when Holly got home, she found a short-set of people. Nearly everyone else was there. Nearly. Jamie and Gail were in the kitchen, Brian was sitting with a beer at the island, and Vivian was nowhere in sight.

"How did I beat Vivian here?" Holly frowned as she hung up her coat. She was peripherally aware that Vivian had to work that day, but nothing had come across her metaphorical desk that would have told her the reason for her daughter's missed attendance.

"I have no idea," admitted Jamie. "Her text just said she hates people and she'd be late."

Gail shrugged. "I've had my phone off. Metaphorically. Traci's in charge."

Brian chimed in, "She didn't text me at all."

"Hi, Dad." Holly grinned and kissed her father's forehead before collecting a proper kiss from Gail, who had flour on her face. "Hey, honey."

Gail beamed. "She made headway on her case. Five bucks, both of you."

"You bet on me?" She could only laugh as Brian and Jamie forked over the cash. "You be against me?"

"I bet against Gail," said Jamie. "I'm pretty sure that's in the girlfriend contract."

Holly grinned and dug a beer out. "Well Gail's right, I made headway though it's very confusing." She paused. "A man died and his insides went rather squidgey. Actual cause of death is anaphylaxis."

"He died of allergies?" Brian looked amused.

"I had a kid die of a latex allergy," mused Gail. "Which ended up breaking a case with Three Rivers."

"I rescued a kid having a peanut allergy in a fire," offered Jamie.

Gail hooted and announced, "Hose monkey wins! Unless Holly's liquid brain dude has a wicked twist."

Grinning ear to ear, Holly offered, "How about the same trace as Keith?"

Her wife froze. "Keith? My Keith?"

Holly nodded. "Yeah, your Keith."

To her surprise, Gail leaned on the counter as if her legs were going to drop. "Holy shit... Holly, we still don't know what Keith stole. You don't ... you don't think he stole the drugs?"

"That wasn't the match, but it was the pill packaging." Holly put a hand on Gail's back. "You okay?"

"No," said Gail. "Ugh. Are you sure?"

"Full results will be in Monday." Holly had made a visual comparison and these days wouldn't stand up in court, though it would get her a warrant if needed.

Gail nodded. "I'm going to officially not care until Monday."

"You know, the idea that you all stop solving crimes on weekends makes me worry," said Brian, speaking carefully and slowly.

"We work enough weekends, Daddy," pointed out Holly. "You used to walk away from your work for weekend. And don't tell me peoples lives weren't on the line."

Jamie half lifted a hand. "Brian, what do you do? I thought you worked with paper."

The man flushed. "Plant fibres, actually. Mostly making paper like you write on, but also the fabric for clothes to use in clean rooms. My daughter is referencing a time I took time off for her softball championship while I was trying to invent a new gown that wouldn't adversely impact the skin of burn victims." He sighed. "She won the championship though. And I did finish my work, Holly."

"Four days later." Holly gave her father a cheeky smile. "But you did invent something amazing."

Conversation stopped as the front door opened. "Better be my kid," called out Gail, taking advantage to change the tone. "And not a serial killer."

"Seriously, Mom, try a new one," said Vivian, sourly.

Oh dear. Holly glanced at Gail, who nodded. This was Holly's bailiwick. Vivian was clearly in a mood. And since Jamie seemed to be at a loss, it was probably work related. But before Holly could go greet her daughter and ferret out the fuckery, Jamie intercepted the young cop with a smile and a soft 'hey.'

Gail's eyes widened and then she grinned, turning her back to the conversation. "Well I feel useless," she laughed.

Holly slapped Gail's arm. "No you don't, you feel like a successful parent."

"A bit, yeah." Gail grinned wider and caught Holly's waist. "S'cuse me, Brian."

"Oh by all means." Brian waved a hand.

Clearly Holly didn't get a say, but she knew she was unable to resist the pull of Gail's gravity. That was a trap she'd fallen into far too long ago, and Holly again succumbed to the magnetism of her wife, kissing her softly.

If anyone wanted to piss a scientist off, they asked them about magnets. The hallmark of explanations belonged to the great Feynman, of course, and his wonderful BBC interview where he explained the trouble with the question of 'why.' And it was all analogous. The issue was never how magnets worked but why they worked, and it was still all theoretical.

When Holly had been in the fifth grade, a teacher had asked the class to describe what salty meant to an alien who was brand new to earth. Her class, including herself, had been flummoxed. It tasted salty. It was a base flavour, one that remained true for all things. It tasted like salt. How could a person be expected to explain it further?

Why did salt taste like salt?

Holly, to this day, was unsure how to explain it. She remembered, as a child, being told that the name of the taste was salt and, being a child, she had not questioned it.

She should have asked why. Gail probably did. Gail always asked why. She was a huge proponent of the whys. Keep asking why until an answer was found. The difference was that Gail's answers didn't have to be as deep as Holly's, not usually. Why did the man kill his wife?

Actually. Now that she thought about it, everything ended with 'because' at some point.

"It's a good thing I have a healthy ego," said Gail, sounding amused. "She's thinking about science while I kiss her."

"I'd apologize, but I'm pretty sure I didn't actively encourage that particular behaviour," replied Brian.

"Isn't Mom always thinking about science?" Vivian still was grumpy, but she seemed to be somewhat more personable. "Anne and LauraLee say hello, by the way."

Holly leaned into Gail and sighed. A woman in child services, and another who specialized in immigrant marriages. Well that explained why Vivian was in a sour mood. "How did you end up on that case, honey?"

"Kid planned to run off, parents called in a fake kidnapping. Hello ETF." Vivian waved a hand and let Jamie steer her to a seat. "Hi, Grandpa."

"Hello, grandkid." Brian reached over and patted Vivian's shoulder. "I feel like I clearly had the best day. Slept in and worked on my book."

"Did you get past your little writer's block?" Gail absently rubbed Holly's shoulder.

"No, I just moved to the next section." Brian shrugged. "I'm trying to explain how we came up with the formula without sounding stupid."

Right away, Holly knew why her father was having a problem. And she laughed. "He means they set up the tests to run at convenient times," Holly explained to Jamie.

Vivian picked up the thread. "A lot of science is shit like... we picked this dye because it was handy." She smiled a little.

Kissing Holly's forehead, Gail let go and went back to the stove. "And now we're back to where it's perfectly acceptable to take some time off and let your back brain process. See all the fun you're missing, being a hose monkey?"

Thankfully, Jamie flipped Gail off. She was getting better at standing up to Gail's childishness. "Running into buildings on fire is less stress, thank you."

"Until it falls on you," joked Gail.

"Just the once," Jamie replied, cheekily.

Holly smiled as her family cheerfully bickered. Even Vivian, who was clearly in a dour mood, made a few digs at Gail and Brian in turn. As weird and crazy as her family was, Holly loved them so.


Had Gail not been told it was Holly who wrote the report, she would have still known it was her wife. There was a way Holly wrote her work, the flair that was singularly Holly Stewart, and Gail was as familiar with it as she was her own writing.

Part of that came from insomnia. Early in their relationship, when Gail couldn't sleep she read. When Gail read at her girlfriend's, she read forensic journals. And invariably there was an article or two by Holly in the mix. After that, Gail somehow transitioned into proofing Holly's articles for grammar and spelling, as well as a bit of Elaine Peck School of Critical Writing editorials, and helping her prep for trials.

Suffice to say, Gail was a god damned expert on the subject of Holly Stewart's writing.

This report rang of Holly at her snarkiest. She was the most unhappy doctor on the planet. She was upset at the results and the case. Which Gail understood and didn't blame her for in the least. The answers they had kind of sucked.

First of all, Holly had no idea what the dead man was allergic to, and that meant her case was unsolved. Secondly, and this was equally important, Holly had found odd trace evidence on him that tied him back to Gail's hostage taking drug running moron. Who wasn't talking.

But unlike Holly, Gail had an idea of where to go with this particular case.

"John, do you ever read thrillers?"

Her sergeant looked up from his tablet. "The occasional Michael Crichton. I think I read some Grisham when we were stuck in the dog fighting ring shit."

"So this guy, Jeffrey Deaver, he's a right bastard. All sorts of deep, depressing, dark stories. But he had this series about Lincoln Rhyme."

The man nodded and then paused. "Wait... Denzel Washington and baby Angelina Jolie?"

Gail shook her head. "The books are nothing like the movie, but the movie was pretty good."

John smirked. "I'm liking this whole secret Peck who likes thrillers."

"Fuck yourself." She was starting to regret telling John her thought process.

But he kept smiling. "I read tawdry romances when I can't sleep." Because he knew. Cops understood insomnia. And Gail was grateful for him sharing that with her. At least she didn't want to stab him now. "Okay, so Lincoln reminds you of the case?"

"No, the case reminds me of the second novel, The Coffin Dancer."

"That's a creepy ass name."

Gail smiled. "This assassin has a tattoo of the Grim Reaper dancing with a coffin."

"And now it's stupid," John complained, flatly. "Who the fuck... okay. So why this book?"

"Well. They think they've got the Dancer, a failed military brat with serious homophobic issues, he's gay and was basically tortured by his step-dad whom he later killed. Only it turns out the Dancer subcontracted him. The real Dancer is a sniffling druggie named Jodie."

John shook his head. "This is so stupid. Do you really like those books?"

"I liked Primal Fear better, to be honest."

Her sergeant grinned evilly. "There never was an Aaron."

"The sequels were absolute shit, though."

"I'll keep that in mind. Did this Jodie character kill people with drugs?"

"No, but get this. When they process his clothes, because they've taken him into witsec and he's at the safe house with his target, they find trace of talcum and other inert materials people use to cut drugs safely."

John stopped joking. "He was stuffing his own pills— wait. If he was the real Coffin Dancer, he'd never be using drugs. He was using fake drugs?"

"Correct. Now, look at the report." Gail cast Holly's report to the wall and made sure to highlight the appropriate lines. "The trace found on Keith and the pirate is the same pill casings, with the same inert cut materials."

They both stared at the wall. "So you think Keith's a drug runner and dead pirate is ... a supplier?"

"I think we need to start looking for missing pharmacy and med school students." Gail twirled a pen between her fingers. "I think the pirate was a supplier."

John caught on right away, which was why Gail liked him. "Kid uses drugs, gets in debt, gets blackmailed to supply pill casings, samples wares too strong, dies. Yeah. Okay. I can run with that." He started to get up but paused. "You want this? A double Peck special?"

She flipped him off. "You're just jelly that Holly and I have a perfect closure rate."

"You're too old to use jelly," drawled John. "And that's what happens when you cherry pick all the good cases."

"Fight the fights you can win," she sassed back.

"Speaking of fights I can win, I'll go look for missing people." John saluted her and went to his own desk.

Gail smiled and sat on her couch, reading Holly's report again. Weird drugs. Weird deaths. Huh. Gail tapped her phone.

A very distracted, wonderfully familiar voice answered. "I'm busy, honey."

"It's a work call, darlin' Dr. Stewart."

Holly hesitated. "I'm still busy. I'm about to scrub in to another autopsy."

Two autopsies in one week? Gail sat up. "Holly, is it another melted brain body?"

Her wife drew a long breath. "I'm not prepared to make a determination on that."

That was Holly for 'yes, but not in a way that would stand up in court.' Gail sucked her lower lip. "John's looking for the pirate in colleges. We— I think he's a supplier."

"Oh." Holly sounded distracted. More so than Gail would expect for a related death. Something else was up. "Can we talk about this later?"

"Yes. I'm taking this one. Since it's got my hostage." Gail paused. "I'll come down for the autopsy."

"Gail." The tone on the phone was exasperation and agony. "Its a child, Gail. He can't be more than eight."

"But it's the same drugs."

Another protracted silence. Then. "Yes."

"And we found the trace on Pirate Doe and Keith."

"Yes." That one was faster. Of course, Holly could easily confirm that fact for them.

"The cases are related, Holly. They have to be. And if this is a new drug on the streets, we need to be in on the ground floor."

Holly sighed. "I was planning on calling John, you know."

After the autopsy. Holly had made a point of not having parents around for the autopsy of children. She was a caring soul like that. "He's busy, but Traci and I will both come, Holly. Half an hour, tops."

This time, Gail could actually hear her wife's grimace. "Fine. But this is not an easy one."

"It's a kid, Holly. They never are." Gail got up and headed for her door. "Do we have an ID or know anything?"

"No. Nothing yet. He was found near the lake by a jogger. No ID."

Gail nodded. "That's my job, then. We'll be there." Holly grumbled and hung up. Odds were that she was unhappy because of the child on her table with a melted brain more than anything else. "John, I got a potential related death. I'm grabbing Trace and heading over to the autopsy."

"What'd the doc say about your theory?"

"Didn't. Yet."

Gail rushed down the stairs, giving a brief thought to the irrational human fear of flying head first down them. This was, no matter how one looked at it, not a good case.


And you'll find out more about it in the next chapter!