A/N: Sorry, sorry…just a really impossible week.
Chapter 11
"Victim number four, J.D. Connelly." Don taped the photo to the board next to the others. "Over twenty-four hours after the third victim, and independently, not a federal crime - except that, at this point, we have to believe we have a serial killer on our hands. Still, this one shows significant variations from the established pattern." He glanced at Megan.
"He's escalating," she pitched in.
"We still open to it being a she?" David asked.
"We're not closing our eyes to any possibilities," Don responded. He taped the photocopy of his birth announcement next to J.D.'s crime scene photo. Great. It wasn't enough that Charlie was on the back of one of the photos, now his mother was front and center on another. The remnants of the bad coffee and the beer he'd shared with Charlie combined uneasily with ibuprophen in his stomach.
He had left Charlie's early after his nocturnal vigil, checked to see that a new agent was watching the house and called a cab. It served two purposes - it gave him some quiet time to think before the buzz of the morning started, and it bypassed that awkward moment when he would walk in on his team discussing him in hushed tones. At least this would put things back on professional terms and offer the appearance of normalcy.
He had clean clothes and some basic toiletries at the office and washed up as well as he could with one hand, splashing cold water on his eyes until they seemed more or less inclined to stay open. Then he checked his email and listened to his voicemail, making note of a message that his car had been cleared, and that he could pick it up at the motor pool any time. Finally, he went to the bullpen and took a seat, staring, trying to figure out what he was missing. When his team started to arrive two hours later, he was still trying.
"How secure is this gym?"
Don glanced at David. "Not very. Members have a key tag with an identifying bar code - you flash it at an electronic eye as you enter, and it identifies you to the desk and makes a record of your visit, but if nobody's at the desk, you can just walk right in. The security is more geared to stopping people from copping free workout time than anything else - members pay through monthly automatic withdrawal, so there's not much to steal except t-shirts and - Gatorade." He leaned back to stretch some of the stiffness out of his spine. "I've got the preliminary crime scene reports." He tapped a file in front of him and pulled out two printouts - a complete list of members and staff, and a list of members who had used their key tags the previous evening. Underneath were the incident report, preliminary forensic findings, preliminary Coroner's report, and a sleeve of photos - minus the ones he'd posted on the board.
Insisting on putting those up himself had been an act of sheer bravado - business-as-usual-there's-nothing-special-going-on-here-folks - and the clinical part of his brain questioned whether or not that was really the wisest course…but somehow, he didn't seem to be able to help himself.
"All those mirrors…" David's voice was thoughtful, his eyes on the photos stringing across the board. "How did this guy get the drop on him? Even if he couldn't hear him over the music, he should have seen his reflection."
Don forced himself out of his chair and to his feet. The better to stay awake anyway. He drew an invisible circle around one section of the photo with his fingertip. "There's a CD Player built into the wall right here - a small equipment room right behind it. I figure he was adjusting the music and didn't hear anybody come in, or somebody was waiting in that equipment room. Even if he caught a glimpse of somebody in workout gear, he'd just assume it was a client with a question. And there's nothing suspicious or threatening about someone at a gym carrying a hand weight. They keep tubs of them, different weights, along this wall by the door - here - " He pulled a photo out of the file and tossed it on the tabletop. " - along with other stuff - you know, stasis balls, mats, stretch bands, weight bars - that kind of thing."
"How heavy was the weight?"
The coffee-beer-ibuprophen mixture sloshed in Don's stomach. "Twelve pounds."
Colby was frowning at the initial Coroner's report. "This kid was tall - 6'2". Take decent strength to heft that weight as high as his head fast and still make that kind of an impact. We're probably looking at a man."
Megan pursed her lips. "Or a woman who works out."
"I don't know." Don took the report from Colby, skimming it. "Given the angle of the blow, if it's a woman, it's a pretty tall one. Megan, you're tall - get behind Colby like you're trying to brain him. Let's see what that looks like."
Megan stood up, straightening her top. "This job does have its perks."
Colby turned his back to her, crossing his arms over his chest. "Don't get any ideas."
"I have a nice paperweight you could borrow," David suggested brightly.
"Yeah, yeah - it's all very funny til somebody loses an eye," Don interrupted. "A roll of paper will do fine. Come on, guys, focus - " He tried to look stern. He knew the humor was a little forced and mostly for his benefit and he was touched, but he was also too close to emotional overload already - who knew what kind of reaction any extraordinary kindnesses might provoke? He watched as Megan efficiently rolled a few sheets of paper into a tube and crept behind Colby.
Colby shifted. "What are you doing back there? A guy can't wait around all day to be murdered…"
Megan lowered the roll of paper and tapped him lightly on the scalp.
Don frowned from the Coroner's report to Colby and back. "Looks like about the right angle…sorry, Megan, I'm with Colby - it's not impossible it's a really tall woman, but statistically, it's more likely to be a man at that height."
"A tall woman in heels?" David suggested.
"On a gym floor? Probably not - too conspicuous. I'm pretty comfortable saying we should narrow our search to males. If you don't want to take my word for it, you can ask Charlie to run you some numbers on the probability when he stops by this afternoon."
"You're bringing Charlie in?"
Don kept his eyes on the Coroner's report. "Charlie was already in."
"I mean, all the way."
He studiously replaced the Corner's report in the file. "Yeah."
Megan looked like she wanted to say something, but Colby's phone trilled and they all turned to look at it.
Colby snatched it up. "Granger." He paused to listen. "Yeah. Yeah? You're kidding - " They realized simultaneously that they were staring at him and tried to get their eyes busy elsewhere, but Colby held up a hand. "Yeah. Hang on - " He wrapped a palm over the mouthpiece. "It's LAPD. They brought a guy in on suspicion of conspiracy to commit murder - contract killing - and he's hoping to cop a plea. Says he's been brokering jobs out, and one was for a retired ATF agent - Alderman. He's willing to give out names in return for the right deal - they want to know if one of us wants to sit in on the interrogation."
Don exhaled sharply. "Damn straight we do - go - take David with you. Call as soon as you have anything more specific."
Colby was already grabbing his jacket, David right on his heels.
000
"Okay. Keep on it. Thanks." Don replaced his phone and leaned back in his chair, rocking it gently to and fro. "The guy at Charlie's place says everything is quiet. Merrick approved another man to keep an eye on Charlie at CalSci, too." With a possible break in the case and his family under watchful guard, he felt like he could take his first deep breath in two days.
"That's great." Megan was paging through something on her computer screen, but she paused to look at him. "What about you?"
Don stopped rocking. "What about me?"
"Don't you think it would be smart to have a man on you?"
Don shrugged. "Not necessary." Megan frowned and he continued, "Hey, it's not just me - Merrick agrees. There's been no clear threat to me, and it's not like I'm not in a position to take care of myself. Protect the innocents first."
Megan jerked her chin in the direction of the board. "You don't think that constitutes a threat, huh? Because from where I'm sitting, it looks really scary."
"I'm not saying it doesn't scare me - it scares the hell out of me - and yeah, I do think somebody's messing with me - but they seem more interested in turning me into a head case than anything else. Doing a good job at it, too, by the way. I've agreed to protection at the first sign I'm in some kind of physical danger."
"Well, that's comforting," Megan turned back to her computer screen. "Especially considering that, as far as we know, the first indication Meyers, Alderman, Motta and Connelly had that they were in danger? Was also the last."
But Don was feeling a glimmer of optimism and he wasn't ready to have it quashed. "Look, if we put protection on every FBI Agent that's ever been threatened, half of us would be spending all our time protecting the other half. It's not practical."
Megan lifted her brows. "All right. But be careful, okay? I'd kinda miss you."
"Well, you're in luck, cause I'm not going anywhere." He stared at the board again. "My birth announcement. Still in chronological order. If the order's not a coincidence then it's interesting, because that's the first time I ever appeared in public print. Couldn't be anything earlier. Don't suppose it means he's done with me?"
Megan leaned forward on her arms and followed his gaze to the board, tracking from one bloody photo to the next. She looked back at him, unsmiling. "What do you think?"
Don rubbed a thumb along his lip. "I don't think there's a snowball's chance in hell."
000
"Hey."
Don jumped at the light touch on his shoulder, embarrassed to realize he'd been more than half asleep. He pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes. "Hey…" he mumbled. "What time…?" he glanced at his watch. Almost ten thirty. Ouch. He'd been out for a good ten minutes.
"Maybe you should stretch out for a little bit." He could hear the smile in Megan's voice.
"I'm kind of afraid I'd never get up again." He leaned back, massaging his neck. "Hear anything from David and Colby?"
"Not yet. But eBay has a name for me - not the buyer's ID yet, but the seller. She's local, so I was going to go talk to her. I thought you might want to come along, but…"
"But you're afraid a snoring partner will cramp your interview style?" He smiled slightly.
"I think the sitting still could be deadly for you," Megan grinned. "More importantly, I think this woman might open up more easily if I talk to her alone. Why don't you stay here and catch a couple of winks? I'll phone in as soon as I have anything - shouldn't take long."
Don blinked grit from his eyes. "What if she's an old classmate of mine? Could help to have me there."
"Or could throw her off. I think it's better if I mention your name and see what kind of reaction I get."
"You make it sound like you think I wasn't popular," Don grumbled, glancing down at the gym member/employee list he'd been running for matches. "All right. Take your time. I've got plenty to keep me busy. What was the name anyway? I might recognize it."
"Gillian Tauberman."
Don shook his head. "Doesn't ring any bells."
"A couple of those books were from after your time - could be you didn't know her. Or could be somebody selling the books as part of an estate."
Don made a face, loosening his tie. "An estate from somebody my age? That's a depressing thought."
Megan patted his shoulder. "Or maybe," she suggested, lowering her voice sweetly, "She's some mousy girl Mr. Big-Time Jock didn't take any notice of." She picked up her purse and beat a hasty exit toward the elevator.
"Hey, that's not funny!" Don called after her. "I was definitely an equal opportunity dater - always!" His only answer was silence and he sank back in his chair and let his eyes close again. "Hmph. Mousy's not bad," he muttered to himself. "Some of those mousy girls were cute - once you got to know them."
He jerked suddenly, irritated to realize he'd been back on the brink of sleep. "All right - Megan's right - sitting still is not a good idea." He used the arms of the chair to bolster himself to his feet.
He was supposed to be taking his antibiotic now anyway, right? A stroll to the kitchen for a little water should wake him up. He fished in the pockets of the suit coat slung over the back of his chair until he found two small vials and pulled them both out. Maybe another one of those painkillers wouldn't hurt either. Last night they hadn't done a damn thing for him and the throbbing in his hand had grown until there wasn't the smallest danger of him falling asleep - but now they seemed to at least be taking the edge off. If he wanted to be able to concentrate, he'd better take another.
He filled a Styrofoam cup from the kitchen tap and read the tiny typed directions on the labels. Ugh. He was supposed to take the antibiotics with food…he sure hadn't taken the first ones with anything, unless you counted coffee and beer, but that could be why his stomach was acting up now. Was there anything to eat around here? Besides sugar packets?
A search of the kitchen turned up somebody's aging sandwich with a curiously green filling, a rock-like bagel, and a carton of yogurt two weeks past its expiration date. Don shook his head. Okay, skip the antibiotic for now and just take the ibuprophen. He tossed two pills down with water and started back to his desk, kneading his wrist in an effort to ease the growing discomfort in his hand. He was supposed to be keeping that elevated or something. Maybe a couple of minutes of that would help.
His cell phone shrilled and he grabbed it from its clip on his jeans pocket, its usual place on the left-hand side of his belt too awkward a reach for now. Colby's number displayed and he flipped it open. "Yeah, Colby?"
"Say, Don - good news - this guy not only remembers brokering a contract on Alderman, but one on Motta too."
"You're kidding." Don approached the bullpen. "What about Meyers?"
"Nothing yet, but he's still singing. He's probably not going to give us much more until the USDA gets here and solidifies a deal, but I really think we're onto something."
"Not likely there was a contract on Connelly."
"No, but there might be one connected with the gym. Or…" Colby's voice trailed off uncomfortably.
"Or me," Don finished for him. "Okay. Megan's tracking down a lead on the yearbooks, too. Let me know as soon as you have more."
"Right. Might take us a couple of hours."
"Take as long as you need - this is our first real break! I'll see you when you get here - just keep in touch." He closed his cell phone and clipped it back to his pocket, adrenaline coursing through his system now, jazzing him awake. Now we're getting somewhere.
He entered the bullpen and stared at the board, thinking about his conversation with Charlie last night. You were big, Jericho, and I never managed to take you down - but I've learned a few tricks since then. Might be it's my turn to knock some hardcase on their butt. Metaphorically, anyway.
His brows rose. Jericho. Now there's something he hadn't thought to do - compare his Academy class with his High School and college classes. Chances were he'd have noticed any overlap back then, but he could look at teachers, Academy employees…he picked up his jacket, maneuvering his bandaged hand through one sleeve, then his good one more easily through the other, shrugging it into place along his shoulders. He had until three before Charlie would arrive, five before he needed to visit the morgue for a more complete autopsy review. Plenty of time.
He'd swing by his place and pull his stuff from Academy days, grab a bite to eat along the way. Or maybe there was something edible in his refrigerator. He snorted. Yeah. That's likely.
As he started toward the motor pool to collect his car, he realized that he was actually smiling and turned for one last glimpse of the board. His mother's face smiled back at him from the blurry ink of the birth announcement. His smile stretched to a grin.
See, Mom? You worry for nothing. Everything's finally starting to work out.
TBC