Chapter XLII

A Family Affair

Martin "Marty" Roggen yawned so wide that his jaw popped with an audible crack. He was beat, bushed, worn out and tired, really really tired. Beside him in the driver's seat, his wife Tora--who was only a smidge more awake--chuckled, "Don't you dare fall asleep now, we're almost home."

Marty closed his eyes and leaned his head back. "Why is it you're a forward-thinking, modern woman until it comes to carrying your heavy briefcase in?"

Tora made the final turn onto their street. "Why do you insist on pretending to use that Boflex I got you if you're not going to put your muscles to good use?"

Marty rolled his eyes in the dark and ignored the comment. "I know why Garret called you in, Ms. Structural Engineer, but why did I have to spend my weekend at the Dam instead of on the back nine? I'm a computer guy. If the levees break, they call you. If they can't get Danny's porno screensaver to go off, they call me. There's a working logic in that."

Both of the Roggens worked at the Hoover Dam Complex and had just worked through a 'Disaster Management' workshop. Tora tried to hide her chuckle with a sigh. "Because you're on the Crisis Team and if your wife is suffering you should be too."

Marty grumbled, "We should have stayed over there so we wouldn't have to drive back tomorrow--well, later today. What was one more night going to hurt?" Tora slowed the car to a crawl and gave him a full-on glare. After twenty-five years of marriage Marty knew exactly what that look meant. "Right, so do you want to go drag Adam out of Josh's, or should I?" Tora turned into their own driveway and hit the remote button to open the garage doors.

Tora rolled her eyes. "You would think at sixteen he would know better than to stay up this late on a school night."

Marty unbuckled his seatbelt. "Oh, I don't know, I seem to remember a certain someone who never fell asleep 'til dawn when they were that age." Tora gave him a wide smile as she batted at his arm. "Just go drag him to his room while I drag the bags in." She pulled the BMW in until the hanging tennis ball tapped the windshield. "Then come up to bed because we have to be at work again in a few hours."

She scrubbed at her skin, washing the blood away with water and Axe body wash. The blood and soap flowed off of her body, red diluted to pink and circled the drain between her feet before disappearing forever. She let out an aggravated hiss when she scrubbed at her dark hair. Tears rose to her eyes; it hurt. The bastard had ripped hair out of her scalp and tore out her earrings. Fucker. She would have to go touch his disgusting dead body to get the chunks of her hair and her earrings.

She cursed between her teeth when she moved. She might have to go to the hospital, because it felt like she had a broken rib. A broken rib for crying out loud! He had been so rough and alert, it was like he hadn't been drugged at all. She thought for a moment, and let the hot water pour over her. She had gotten better with the drugs. It had taken some trial and error at first, but he should have been completely out of it within twenty to thirty minutes and it had been much longer than that. Could she have bought a bad batch? She hardly thought so. The bastard she'd been buying from was well known all over campus for his ability. He was a chem grad student and cooked GHB in the labs after hours to keep his tuition paid. He was too smart to show up for a face to face deal, it was all done over and intercampus mail. His caution had paid off for both of them in spades. She didn't have to cook her own drugs and he didn't know he was helping the Male Mutilator. She turned, intent on rinsing out her hair again and saw the white lights hit the small bathroom window.

She froze for a moment, completely shocked.

It was impossible! It just wasn't happening. She shut off the water with a quick slap of her hand and listened to what was going on around her. She pushed the glass door open and stepped out onto the cold tile. She could feel the floor vibrating underneath her feet. She quickly dropped to her knees, still completely naked and soaking wet, and pressed her ear to the floor.

Her heart rate jumped, there was a car pulling into the garage underneath her. A car meant people. People meant witnesses. Christ! She couldn't remember if there had been a gun in the apartment. Of course, she hadn't been looking for a gun at the time. Panic shot through her, sending another dose of adrenaline into her bloodstream. The brother was home, and she just bet he brought his two jock buddies with him. Three to one were not good odds. Those were gang-rape odds.

"Shit. Shit. Shit!"

She looked around frantically; it wasn't supposed to happen like this. This, she realized with a shudder, was what had happened to Erica. She definitely didn't want to end up like Erica.

That thought cleared her head. She didn't have time to panic right now. First, she realized, she had to get un-naked, quickly. She had to get dressed and her clothes were on the other side of a dead body. While she was reasonably sure the blood wouldn't show on a red dress in dim light, she didn't want to risk it. She looked around the small bathroom and settled, somewhat reluctantly, on the wicker clothes hamper. She riffled through the clothes and found what wasn't absolutely filthy. The WLVU hoodie was too big for her, the blue basketball shorts were a tad too tight in the hips and almost as long as capris on her. It was better, though, than being naked. She looked around--it seemed like hours since the car had come in, but it had really only been seconds. Unfortunately, seconds were probably all she had. She didn't like the idea of going back through the bedroom, and all the blood there, but didn't have to worry about it. The bathroom had a second door that lead back into the main part of the garage apartment: the small, probably rarely used, kitchenette, to be specific. The first problem was solved, the second--where the hell were her shoes?--was still afoot. She strained to listen, hoping to hear something to let her know what was going on below her.

She padded her way across the tile to where the carpet started and glanced at the open bedroom door. She could barely just make out the lump that was the dead man on the floor. She was in something of a conundrum or a Catch-22. She needed to leave now or risk getting caught. However, if she left now, without cleaning up after herself, she risked getting caught. She hesitated, and might have decided to take the risk and stay. Then she heard the footsteps. The even clod of someone coming up the stairs. She flattened herself against the wall and eased around to the door. The strange glow of the stupid K-Mart blue light gave the steps an eerie look. It was eerie, and empty, yet the steps were still coming.

"Josh, Adam, you guys up here?"

She felt the bottom of her stomach fall away and nausea burn in her throat. There was a second set of stairs, and the door was directly across from her. Damn.

It was another horror movie, but this one was more Scream-esque. She watched the door knob turn slowly, and her mind ran in frantic circles, trying to figure out what to do.

"Boys, you both have school tomorrow."

The door swung open and she pressed her back against the wall harder, all but frozen in the face of imminent discovery.

"Turn that X Box off and go to-"

In the end, she didn't make a decision, she just acted. When the door opened all the way, she was faced with a man in a rumpled dress shirt. Their eyes met for a moment and then she lunged forward.

She weighed one hundred and eight pounds, and though the woman who called herself Alex didn't know it, Martin Roggen weighed one hundred and eighty-four pounds. Usually the weight difference would give Martin an advantage over her. Unfortunately for Martin, he was on the edge of a steep flight of stairs.

She lunged at him, kicking off the wall with one of her bare feet for extra leverage. She hit him with both hands, dead center in the chest. While the physics behind the situation eluded both parties, the end result was inescapable.

She landed on her knees and watched the man teeter on the edge of the top step. His arms wind milled wildly and his eyes widened with fear and confusion. Amused with herself she puffed her cheeks up and blew on him like she would a candle, then she shoved him again.

She didn't bother to watch him fall, the sound of flesh hitting wood, concrete and steel was more then enough. When the last thud had fallen and two voices cried out, one in agony and one in shocked horror, she opened the other door and ran down the other stairs.

Her hands scraped the wood handrails and she stumbled on the bottom step. She got up quickly, but not without stubbing her toe and scraping her knee. Her eyes were already well adjusted to the dark of night, but she had no idea where she was. It didn't matter; she pushed through the shrubs and into the next yard and started running.

Tora had a briefcase in each hand. Her husband's was an old-fashioned stiff leather affair that he'd had since he'd graduated college. He had the world's most sophisticated laptop in a thirty-dollar Staples special that his grandmother had bought him for graduation. It was silly and sweet, which was Marty to a tee. Her bag was much more practical and definitely more stylish. The soft-shell leather attaché bag was newer and looked like it actually belonged in the same decade the computer inside it did.

She headed towards the door that would lead her from the somewhat cluttered garage to her kitchen. It was so good to be home!

She heard the noise coming down the stairs before she saw what it was and when she did, her lungs stopped still in her chest.

Her husband came tumbling down the steps in a bone-rattling clatter, rolling down the steps backwards, his arms flung out trying desperately to catch a safe hold on the handrail or wall. Marty slammed into the concrete floor with a loud crack and Tora felt the scream bubble up in her throat slowly, like it was a viscous semi solid. Time slowed down and though her throat burned from screaming, she could not hear herself.

She dropped both cases, leather and five thousand dollar laptops be damned, and ran to him.

He was on his back, his legs and arms were laying around him, spread eagle and limp. She hit her knees, oblivious of the pain that caused and looked into his eyes. Marty's eyes were dark brown, the same shade as both of their sons, and glazed over. He blinked though, so her heart beat again, he was still alive. She carefully cradled his head in her lap, "Marty, honey. Marty, say something."

She couldn't think, could barely speak, her wildest nightmares had sprang up right before her eyes and she was powerless to do anything. She wasn't a doctor, she didn't know how bad he was hurt or what to do. She blindly groped for his hands, taking one of them carefully in her own. She whispered nonsense to him while she used her one free hand to pat herself down, looking for her cell phone. Why couldn't she remember where it was? Was it still in the car? She looked at the car, it's engine was warm, she could hear it ticking.

On the one hand, Tora couldn't think she could stand up and leave her husband. On the other hand, she had to call 9-1-1. The boys, the boys were upstairs and she needed their help. "ADAM! JOSH!"

Bellow her Marty let out a groan. Her attention immediately refocused on his face. He was straining, almost like he was trying to sit up. Tora gently held him down. "No, no honey, don't move. I'm going to call an ambulance." She looked around again, "JOSH!"

"No." Marty coughed weakly and Tora looked down again.

"Marty, sweetie, we need to boys to call-"

He shook his head and winced as he did. "Pushed." He closed his eyes and the lines cut deeper into his face.

Tora let the single word sink in and felt a fresh wave of razor barbed fear cut into her heart. She looked up the steep flight of stairs and back at Marty. Conflict raged inside her. Her husband versus her sons.

Marty took a deep and ragged breath. "Frank. Go get Frank now."

She was scared, she was angry, she stripped off the wrinkled suit jacket she'd been wearing and slid it under her husband's head. "I'll be right back."

Tora scrambled to her feet and ran out of the garage. She tripped over her own feet as she crossed the small strip of pebble and stone that separated their driveway from that of Sergeant Frank Guerrero of the Boulder City Police.

"FRANK!"

She opened her mouth to scream again, but Frank came out of his own door clad in plaid boxers and holding a gun. "I heard screams."

Hysteria buzzed in her head and her legs threatened to collapse under her. "Someone pushed Martin down the stairs. The garage stairs."

Frank tried to calm his usually calm neighbor down. He expected this kind of thing at work, but not in his own neighborhood. He sent Tora to his house with instructions to call 911. He went into the garage, covering every direction the same way he would if he were clearing a scene. When he was sure there was no immediate danger in the garage, he went over to where Martin Roggen was lying. He quickly checked the pulse. It was thready but there. Son of a bitch. This wasn't some random tourist or bum, this was the guy that he regularly barbecued with. Hell, his daughter had been mooning over the Roggen boys for years. "You hang in there, Marty."

Frank told himself that this was like any other scene. Except for the fact that he was in his underwear and he was heading up to a kid's apartment. He took the stairs carefully, placing one bare foot sideways on the step and then another on the next step, moving quickly and quietly, his back to the wall.

He reached the apartment's landing and checked his blind spots at the door. It was dark but for the landing's bulb shining through the open door. "Boulder City Police! Josh, Adam, are you guys up here?" There was no answer. He stepped all they way inside, careful to not touch anything. He was another step inside when the smelled it. Death infected his senses quickly and completely. Bile rose up in his throat and he froze. He kept his dark adjusted eyes on the floor. He went into the bedroom and looked down at the shadowy form laying on the ground. It was one of the boys and he was completely naked. Lights from the street filtered in through the bedroom window and he saw the blood and felt his gut tighten and sour. He was going to be sick.

Frank backed out of the room, being very careful not to disturb anything. This was way outside of his expertise. He needed Homicide and CSI.

This was Boulder City, Vegas's quiet sister city. Things like this just weren't supposed to happen here.