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chapter five

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maybe it's all too much
how come we're so messed up
maybe i'm not enough
maybe you're just too much
-The Feeling, "Fill My Little World"

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The sun grew hazy behind early afternoon clouds as the car pulled into the spot right beside the New York State Police van. Sam quickly unfastened her seatbelt and rose from the car, swatting the door shut behind her, and stared ahead at the Pinetree Motel and Lodge.

She strode in time with Martin, up to the local police officer who appeared to be in charge.

"We're Special Agents Spade and Fitzgerald," she introduced, offering her hand.

The captain shook her hand, then Martin's. "Captain Barry. I received instructions from your Supervisory Agent Malone."

"What do you have so far?" Martin asked.

"Is this the guy you're looking for?" Captain Barry held out a small photo of Allan Tylman; Sam and Martin both nodded. "We have him checking in here last Thursday, paid in cash through this weekend. But he appears to have vacated the premises, and we don't have any security videos of him leaving."

"Figures." Martin muttered under his breath as Captain Barry led them up the porch steps and through the creaking screen door into the lobby.

"Well," Sam laughed quietly as she fell into step with Martin, a few feet behind the police chief. "This place isn't exactly the Ritz."

Martin raised his left arm, gesturing toward the mismatched shades of light blue faded to grey that coated the far wall of the entranceway-turned-lobby. "No. Definitely not the Ritz," he agreed.

"I feel like I'm in a bad sixties thriller," she whispered, inhaling the dingy, musty smell that surrounded her with distaste.

They rounded the corner just a few steps behind Captain Barry, and she felt Martin's hand reassuringly against the small of her back. Just seconds later he dropped his hand back down to his side, a small smile playing awkwardly against his lips. She swallowed; their pace had slowed while Captain Barry had made fast strides towards the buzz carrying from far end of the hallway. Several members of the local Crime Scene Unit hovered around the yellow tape marking off the area behind an open door, cameras flashing rapidly.

She drew in a breath silently, forcing herself back in special agent mode, and took in the scene in front of them as they walked forward to be introduced to the Supervisor.

"These are Agents Fitzgerald and Spade," Barry looked over the shoulder of one the detectives to get a better view inside the room.

"What do you have?" Martin stepped forward across the yellow crime scene tape, watching closely as CSU took samples of a dark stain in the rug.

"Blood," the investigator stood, bagging the sample.

"I've got a third set of prints on the sink," another said, coming out of the bathroom. "We've got some hair samples to send to the lab, too."

"Does anyone know when they were last seen here?" Sam followed suit as Martin pulled on a pair of latex gloves and went to get a closer look at the cheap wooden wardrobe that stood in the back corner of the room.

"Oh, God," Martin said softly as the top drawer creaked open. Sam looked up inquisitively, reading the distress in his voice. He pulled several bed sheets from the drawer, each displaying large stains in various shades of dried blood.

She exhaled, moving wordlessly to the full size bed four feet away. She pulled the stiff polyester bedspread to one side. "The sheets are there," she gestured her hand back toward the dresser. "But what about the mattress pad?"

"No," Martin shook his head, opening and inspecting the remaining drawers.

"From what Childs' team told us, Tylman has always been very careful. That's why they've never been able to pin any of the murders on him," she said slowly, the wheels in her head turning. Danny had spoken with the Violent Crimes team SAC Norman Childs, and had relayed the details of several rape-homicide cases in which Tylman had been a prime suspect. Childs' team had never been able to get any substantial evidence; every body had been found washed up on shore weeks after the victim had been murdered, all physical evidence long since washed away. "This is pretty careless for him..."

"So, either something happened and he had to cut and run, or else he was planning to come back later to clean all of this up." Worry lines creased in Martin's forehead as he dropped his shoulders.

"So the question is: what happened?"

Martin sighed and nodded at her, both knowing that they were avoiding the other obvious question for as long as possible. Where is the body?

xxx

"Can I get you anything? Coffee? Tea? Water?" Liza Freeman stooped over the coffee table, moving several stacks of loose papers as she welcomed Sam and Martin into her living room, motioning for them to take a seat on the sofa.

"Tea would be great, thanks," Sam answered, more to give them a few minutes to look around the room uninterrupted than anything else.

Edward Freeman's cousin Liza, the owner of the motel, lived only fifteen minutes away in a modest sized home for a single woman in her late thirties. Sam turned her upper body, craning her neck to get a better look at the living room. The room was simple and neatly decorated, but very impersonal. The empty ivory walls seemed a blank expanse in contrast with the deep floral print on the sofa and loveseat. Nothing seemed particularly suspicious, but neither did the room seem homey.

"Here you are, Agent Spade," Liza returned, placing a mug down on the coffee table and sitting down in the chair across from them. "Now, you said you had some questions you wanted to ask me?"

"Yes, we wanted to ask you about your cousin Edward," Martin leaned forward in his seat. "When was the last time you talked to him?"

"Edward? Oh, it must have been just last week!"

"When he came to stay at the Pinetree?" Sam asked, trying to gauge how forthcoming Liza would be without having to probe more forcefully.

Liza shook her head. "I didn't say I saw him, I just talked to him on the phone."

"So, you mean he didn't stay at the Pinetree over the weekend?" Sam shifted, trying to read the situation.

"No," Liza confirmed. "What is this about?"

Martin stood and brushed his hands off against his slacks. "Sorry, but would it be alright if I used your bathroom?"

Liza nodded her head and gestured to the hallway that ran along the back of the house. "Of course. Last door on your left."

Martin disappeared down the hallway, and Sam found herself suddenly remembering a case from what seemed like forever ago, when Martin had excused himself to the bathroom, but instead went up to their suspect's bedroom to see if he could get any evidence. It had been the day right after she had first invited him home when everything had seemed so confusing but exciting, all at the same time...

Sam paced around the living room of her apartment, trying to get her nerves under control. She had met Martin outside in a dark corner of the parking garage, where they would be safe from the view of security cameras. He had offered to drive her home or take her out to dinner, but she had declined. After all, it had been a long day and she was tired.

Besides, if they went out then somebody they knew might see them. Sam had not really thought this out yet. She had not planned on it, just acted on impulse. She had not even seriously considered asking Martin home last night.

But when he said that things were going to change for them, he had looked so nervously yet endearingly hopeful that she had ignored what common sense was telling her and instead had listened to her body. Her body and whatever romantic fantasy embedded deep in a dark corner of her brain that she was usually quite capable of ignoring.

Martin said he was just going to run by his place to pick up a change of clothes and that he would be right along, but that had been over an hour ago. By all accounts, he should be here by now, and every second that passed by was another second that her brain reminded her of what a bad idea this was.

She wandered aimlessly into her kitchen, her bare feet padding against the linoleum floor. She was greeted by a wave of cool air as she opened her refrigerator door, peering inside for something she could munch on to take her mind off of everything that had happened that day: the search for the blind girl Kelly and her companion Louise, her and Martin, knowing that Jack was on a flight to Chicago with Maria and the girls.

Her stomach rumbled. Maybe she should just order out...

"I know they don't teach you to lock your own doors at Quantico, but I think that's just because they figure that it's something most federal agents just do on their own..." Martin stood in her doorway, overnight bag in one hand and cardboard pizza box in the other, grinning from ear to ear as he teased her.

She shook her head and rolled her eyes playfully, her fears rapidly disappearing. "This smells great," she took the pizza box from him and led him back to the kitchen.

He dropped his bag by the door to her bedroom, reaching out for her hand as she put the box down on her kitchen table. He pulled her to him, his hands dropping to rest on her hips, and leaned down to kiss her. She wrapped her arms around his neck, her earlier anxiety now completely gone.

"Hey," he breathed, smiling when he finally pulled away. Sam found herself too breathless to reply, which allowed him the time for his smile to turn into a smirk. "You really should lock your door, you know. What if I had been an axe murderer..."

She laughed. "No offense, but I think I could take you." She left him by the kitchen counter, retreating to bolt the door shut. "Besides, I don't think you should be talking," she called out as she returned to sit down at the table in front of him. "After all, you were the one who got your ass handed to you just two hours ago."

Martin shrugged, coming to sit in the chair beside her. He ran his hand along her arm, sending shivers coursing through her body. She remembered how unsatisfied she had felt, even after a cold shower that morning, and suddenly wanted to forgo dinner and just head straight to bed. But her stomach would not be deterred, growling softly as the smell of the pizza wafted through the room.

"Hungry?" Martin laughed, his dimples showing.

"Maybe just a little. I think I forgot to eat lunch..." she admitted, shaking her head embarrassed. She gestured to the pizza box, "What'd you get?"

Martin opened the box, "Pepperoni, sausage, onion, mushrooms, and green peppers... I, uh, couldn't remember what you liked so I figured I would just get a little bit of everything and then you could take off what you didn't want."

Sam took two paper plates from the stack on the end of the table, handing one to Martin and keeping one for herself. She took a slice of pizza from the box and lifted it to her lips, savoring the taste as she swallowed. She smiled at him. "Green peppers are my favorite."

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"So anyway, Agent. What is this about?" Liza's voice was filled with greater urgency the second time she posed the question.

Sam once again forced herself to jump back into special agent mode, her voice the calm and demanding one of a trained investigator. "Ma'am, we just want to know a little bit more about your cousin. He's under investigation as a possible suspect in a missing persons case, and if you have any information about his whereabouts that could help us clear him, I would suggest that you tell us now."

"Eddie? That's impossible! He was always such a good kid. I know he had some arguments with his ex-wife that got misinterpreted, but that was all cleared up..." Liza rambled, her voice coming rapid-fire as she defended her younger cousin.

"Ms. Freeman," Sam raised her eyes to bring Liza back to focus. "I'm sorry, I know this must be difficult to understand, but we really need to know if you've seen your brother at the Pinetree at any time in the last five days."

Liza shook her head, a blank look crossing her face. "No, I haven't. But that was why Eddie called me: he wanted to wish me well on my trip. I spent the long weekend at a business conference; my assistant manager is in charge for the rest of the week."

Sam glanced at her watch discretely, trying to discern how long Martin had been gone and how much longer she had to stall. Her gut told her that Liza was clueless. She pulled out the photograph of Allan Tylman, placing it on the coffee table so that Liza could take a look. "Have you ever seen this man before?"

Liza picked up the photo tentatively, inspecting it for a few minutes before placing it down on the table. "Yes," she said slowly. "I saw him this morning, having a smoke outside the lobby, when I went to deliver the new payroll forms... I felt like he knew me from somewhere, but I couldn't place him. I didn't think I had ever seen him before." Her hands fiddled nervously in her lap, "What does this have to do with Eddie?"

"We're not sure yet, Ms. Freeman. That's what we're trying to find out." Martin reappeared, walking to the other side of the room towards the front door and motioning for her to follow. He stopped long enough by where Liza sat to wish her goodbye.

Sam rose, leaning over the coffee table to shake Liza's hand and to give her a card, urging her to call if she remembered anything else that she thought might be important. Sam then followed Martin's retreating figure out the front door of the house and onto the uneven stone walk that lead to the driveway.

"You get anything?" She asked.

"Just a cursory look, but nothing of interest."

"I don't think she knows anything, either. As far as she's concerned, her cousin 'Eddie' is a model citizen and a wonderful human being." Sam heard the familiar click of the car doors unlocking, and pulled the passenger door open, hopping back inside. "Pretty clueless if you ask me."

From the driver's seat, he tilted his neck in her direction, his eyes haunting as they met hers. "Well," he said slowly. "People will believe what they want to believe until they have no choice but to face the truth."

"So, what? Ignorance is bliss?"

Martin turned the key in the ignition and adjusted the settings on the air conditioner. "Yeah," he sighed, and it hung heavy between them: a barrier of sorts. "Something like that."

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