DISCLAIMER: Don't own 'em. Willing, ready and able to stage a coup.
I've only been working on this for six months now. The upcoming premiere motivated me to get it done! Oh and the police work and forensics is incredibly unrealistic, I know. Call it creative license which, were I being paid for this, I wouldn't do, but given I'm not…well, do the math.
DEDICATION: Those of you who so kindly feedback my stories. I appreciate it tons and tons. J/W fans will like the way this one turns out – after a lot of twists. Scout's honor!
I Know You're Out There Somewhere: None so Blind as Those Who Will Not See
Dear Nige,
By the time you get this I won't be anywhere near the postmark on the envelope. I remembered a few things and I need you to check them out….
When Pollack and I got back to the suite, the door was ajar and there were two men waiting for us. I had the only key card, supposedly. How did they get in? Shouldn't there be a record of what time they accessed the suite?
One man grabbed me and pulled me back against one of the walls. Whatever drug had been in Pollack's drink left me practically unable to move by then and disoriented.
The second man grabbed Pollack and pushed him out to the hall. He was taller than Pollack. He shot Pollack at close range, practically holding on to him.
One of the heels of my shoes snapped. I could barely stand up and even if I could have, I would have my height without shoes.
The man holding me got the gun and put it in my hand. He fired it down, probably into the baseboard or something.
Nigel, I honestly don't know how much of that really happened, but it feels real.
The Brit looked up from the letter that he'd already read into creases and rough edges. Her memories – if that was what they were – fit the facts they'd found at the suite and might – just might – give them another lead or two. That frame around their beloved M.E. cracked a bit more.
Nigel smiled. Soon, he hoped, he could let everyone in on all the details and once they all knew how to clear Jordan… Heaven help the bugger who did belong in that damn frame.
XXXXX
"Anyone seen Nigel?" Lily asked, ducking into the break room, a sheaf of print outs in her hand.
"Lab, I think," Bug replied, smiling at the love of his life. "Why?"
She waved the papers. "Information on that judge."
"I wonder when he's going to let the rest of us in on his one man crusade."
"When he can let us in without risking it," Garret replied, having come in behind Lily.
"I know, I know, Dr. Macy. He's the only one who has all the pieces, so he's the only one Simmons or Walcott could touch. Still…."
"Yeah," Lily agreed with a sigh.
"Maybe what you've got will help?" The chief gestured to Lily's handful of documents.
She smiled. "I think it… will. Wanna come with me to show him?"
Curious and itching to be in on Nigel's "crusade" despite Garret's wisdom, both men agreed. They found Nigel in his lab, hunkering next to a piece of a baseboard.
"I like a natural look myself," Garret observed. "Stain, not painting the baseboards."
Nigel looked up, unfazed by their sudden presence. His eyes darted around the room. The others followed the direction of his gaze. Lily gasped and Bug moved towards the two figures furthest from the door.
Garret looked it all over and then looked at the Brit. "You think this is how it happened."
Nigel nodded, pride evident in his eyes. "And I've got proof, Dr. M. Beautiful, glorious, bloody proof."
Smiles wreathed the faces of Jordan's closest companions.
"Well?" Bug gave him an expectant look.
"I invited Woodrow. Was about to go get you lot." Nigel couldn't stop grinning.
"What's this all about? I had to make up some excu-" Woody's eyes ran around the room, taking in its occupants, both live flesh and plastic. "Is this what I think it is?"
"Unless you think it's a representation of the 2004 Sox outfield," Nigel retorted with sparkling humor. "All right then, kiddies, gather 'round. Uncle Nigel has a lovely story to tell you." He winked at Lily. "Though those of you with more delicate sensibilities might want to shield your ears."
She snorted, but smiled back at him.
As if he were telling a campfire story, the Brit began in the time-honored tradition. "Once upon a time…." Groans reverberated around the room. "Now, now… let me do this my way." He dared them to respond and when none did, began anew. "Once upon a time there was a reporter. He wasn't the most wonderful fellow in the world and like many reporters, he often worked on stories that some people would rather not be published. Our reporter found himself working on just such a story. It was an ugly one – corruption, abuse of judicial power, bribery and, as our man worked backwards, possible accessory to at least one murder. Our judge got a little nervous and sent our man a warning."
"Pollack's D.C. car accident?" Garret put in.
Nigel nodded. "Only it wasn't very much of an accident. It was a hit-and-run and the suspect was not exactly anonymous to police. Now, our man, being stubborn and at least a little reckless, chose to ignore said warning."
"Why?" Lily said. "Why? What story could have been worth it?"
"Getting there, luv. I promise." The criminologist looked down. "By this time our reporter had stumbled across some connections that surprised him, I'd wager. They were connections he couldn't ignore. Now, probably any other reporter would have, but not our fellow. You see, he knew one of the people affected by this judge's actions. Knew and – shall we say – had feelings for."
"Jordan?" Woody's eyes narrowed. "Jordan knew that judge guy?"
Nigel shook his head. "She'd never heard of him – or I doubt she had. Max probably had. Max possibly even knew him. See, at some point, who knows when, our judge wasn't corrupt, didn't take bribes, but worked at upholding the law as an assistant district attorney. I guess he found it hard to uphold the law when he had a family to feed and so when someone offered him what we can guess was a large sum of money to use his position to… to make certain a particular crime would remain unsolved… well, it probably got easier with each case. It always does."
He paused and there was only silence. It was Garret who, his eyes suddenly dark with exhaustion, finally spoke. "This judge? He had something to do with Emily Cavanaugh's murder?"
"I believe – and Pollack must have believed – that he helped cover up who killed her. For a price."
Bug sighed. "And so Pollack kept after the story."
Nigel nodded. "And he came back to where it all began – Boston."
"Can we – uh – fast forward to the – uh – the whole rehearsal thing?" Woody's face was slightly pink and he rubbed his left thumb against the index finger repetitively.
"All right. Well, turning the page a bit, our fellow finds himself with our heroine. They are drinking, dancing, flirting, generally enjoying themselves. They share a fateful round of drinks. She takes his gin and he is left to drink her apple cocktail. Shortly thereafter, our lovely girl begins to feel a bit unsteady. She suggests they go back to the hotel suite."
"And they had an argument before they ever got there," Woody inserted. "It's on that surveillance tape."
Nigel shook his head. "No. What was on that tape wasn't an argument. It was the effect of the drug."
"Jordan pushed him away!"
Nigel gave Woody an empathetic look, but pushed on. "Not exactly. He was trying to hold her up; she told him she didn't need his help and he insisted."
"You have proof of that, Nige?" Macy, always thinking of the evidence.
"I cleaned up the tape. And – it fits."
"With?"
He sighed. "With the drug. You all are going to have to take my word on this for a moment here when I tell you that by the time they reached the suite, Jordan could barely move under her own power. Not to mention that what she'd been given would have affected her… demeanor."
"I couldn't identify it on the tox screen," Bug reminded him.
"No." Nigel's eyes grew hooded. "Again, just trust me on this."
"Nige, not that we don't trust you, but – but whatever this drug is, we've got to know. I mean… you know, to get the charges cleared." Woody's face was earnest.
"I don't think we will, mate. I really don't. Not to clear her, anyway." He looked down for a moment. "If it comes to prosecuting the real killer…."
"It's black ops, isn't it?" Lily caught on.
The Brit nodded.
Garret whistled long and low. "Wow. Okay, go on, Nige."
"Right. Well, as it turns out, our reporter fellow and our dear girl weren't exactly alone when they got back to the suite." A chorus of exclamations and questions greeted this. He waved them away. "Let's just say that I know that and that I managed to make a friend at the hotel. A friend who checked the electronic records for that room."
Bug was nodding. "Someone accessed the room?"
"Yeah. At a time when we know Jordan and Pollack were still in the bar. My new-found friend also checked all the other records. No staff went into that room. In fact, a second key card was issued shortly after the rehearsal dinner began. To a man claiming to be J.D. Pollack."
"There was no key card on him," Woody added, his voice dull.
"No. And I showed the girl who issued the card a photo of our late reporter. She couldn't give me a description of the man who asked for the card – beyond that he looked like a body builder - but she swore it wasn't Pollack." He took a breath and grabbed a sip of water from a nearby bottle. "So, you see, someone was waiting for Pollack. A couple of people, actually. One grabbed Pollack, another grabbed Jordan."
Woody leaned against the wall. "So one of them shot Pollack. They put the gun in Jordan's hand and…?"
"Fired a bullet into the baseboard. This baseboard actually. They staged the rest of the scene, cleaned up and left."
"Figuring Jordan wouldn't remember anything and that, the way it looked, she'd be charged." Lily's voice held that warning edge to it.
"I suspect they more or less thought Jordan wouldn't wake up," Nigel replied.
"This is great, Nige." The cop's blue eyes burned. "But how much of it can you prove?"
He smiled. "I can prove there was a drug in her system. I can prove there was no splatter on her dress. I can prove she was the right height to fire the bullet into the baseboard, given its angle of entry. I can also prove she wasn't tall enough – never mind she wasn't close enough – to fire the shot that killed Pollack."
"She was in heels." Garret sighed.
"Did anyone notice one of her heels was broken?" No one said a word. "None of this is speculation. Some of the technology is new, but I don't see why we need to let the D.A. in on that little fact."
"What about the bartender?" Poor Woody couldn't quite leave off being a cop.
Garret answered him. "I have a feeling if we go back and do what we should have done from the beginning we'll find out that the forensics aren't really there."
Nigel smiled again. "Already done, Dr. M. The bartender was killed by someone taller than Jordan. And…" he took another breath, "…I sort of tracked her movements that night. I found a pawn shop owner who admitted to me that he sold her a gun. A thirty-eight, which wasn't what killed Lance." Another smile – this one very much a Cheshire cat grin. "Not to add that she bought it around the same time Woodrow there and I were examining Lance's body." He held up a hand to forestall any protests. "I know, I know. She might have had a different gun."
"We never found one."
"Right. Why buy a gun if you already have one?" The criminologist shook his head. "Jordan didn't do any of this."
"And you have your proof." All heads turned to stare at the interloper in the doorway. Renee Walcott wore a sour look on her face.
END Part Six