Electricity

By LMR

Disclaimer: I didn't steal CI. The butler did it.

A.N.: A big 'shippy thank you to Claire/guitar73girl, who Betas this silly thing, a job only slightly less ridiculous than Drake's.

A.N. 2: Thanks for the lovely reviews! They give me the warm fuzzies!

Chapter 9: A Brief Interlude

xXx

"He's an underwearinspector," Eames told him with an undertone of disbelief.

Goren drew upon all the eloquence he could muster to respond to this information. "Hm," he said.

"Our prime suspect works for the only company in the world that doesn't practice the great American pastime of outsourcing, and is therefore stuck with the most asinine job on the planet." She looked at her partner mournfully.

"How do we end up with these cases, Bobby?"

xXx

The Tighty Whities Done Righty Underwear Inspection facility - Tuesday, July 3 - 9:37 a.m. Doink, doink.

"Drake Simmons?" Eames asked. She got a nod. "We're very sorry to have to do this, sir, but we need to ask you some questions about what happened to your late fiancée."

He looked the two over and nodded vaguely. "Where were you when Iskra had her accident?" Eames wondered.

"Eating supper. They called my cell, the cops did, I mean. It was about seven. Of course, my day just went to h- to pot, I mean," he corrected, glancing at Eames. "I mean my day went to pot. I didn't smo- Well, anyway, it was the last happy meal I had for a while." He rushed to clarify. "I mean the last meal I ate during which I felt contented. I wasn't eating a Happy Mea- well, you get the point."

Eames nodded by way of assurance that she would never accuse him of trying to get a toy of the week with his cheeseburger. Murder, maybe. But not toys.

Drake was standing, somewhat perplexed over a crate labeled "Uninspected." It seemed he was debating whether or not he should pick it up. He fingered the brace on his back as if testing its mettle by touch. "Hey, Billy!" he called to a nearby worker. "Could you get this crate for me?"

"I got it," Goren offered, easily lifting the crate and setting it down next to the conveyer belt.

"Thanks. Football injury from high school," he explained impressively. "What were we talking about?"

"When was the last time you talked to Miss Kent?" Eames wondered, keeping one eye on her partner.

Bobby, at least, was keeping himself amused. He spread a particularly frilly pair of underwear in his hands and held it up to the light as though checking for holes in the seams. From Alex's angle, it looked like he was just about to put them on his head. She had to make an effort not to laugh.

"Put those down!" Drake snapped, snatching them out of his hands.

"He sees something he likes..." Eames said, by way of explanation. "When was the last time you talked to Iskra?" She reiterated.

"The day before the accident," he told the two. He told Eames, anyway. Bobby was carefully examining a slight pair with Tweetie Bird on the front.

"Did she seem worried, upset about anything?" she wondered.

"Why all the questions, anyway? I don't see why you're interested."

"We're sorry to tell you this, Mr. Simmons, but we think Iskra's death might not have been caused by lightning." They paused a moment to let the information sink in and to study him for a response.

They got look of pure bewilderment for their trouble. "But she was killed by a storm. She was swimming. The lightning. They saw it. Didn't they?"

"No one saw what happened. We have reason to believe she was murdered." Eames examined his face carefully for clues.

"What? I mean, why would? It makes no... Why do you think..." he uttered in staccato, panties forgotten.

"I'm sorry, we can't tell you what we've found. You understand," Eames said brusquely.

But it was clear Drake didn't understand at all. "Murdered?"

"Do you know anyone who might have wanted to hurt Iskra?" she asked, absently taking a pair of leopord prints out of Bobby's hands and putting them back on the belt; throwing him a look that clearly said he was going overboard. Bobby looked at Alex. Looked at the pair she'd taken out of his hand; regarded her quizzically, as if trying to figure something out. He shook his head. Better not to think about that.

"Why would anyone do this to her?" Drake asked to no one in particular. Reeling, he sat on the huge crate Goren had moved for him.

"We were hoping you could tell us. The last time you saw her - did she seem on edge or nervous?" Eames followed up.

"She seemed... withdrawn. I remember I tried to talk to her, but she kind of brushed me off. I remember wondering about that. Worrying about it." He looked at them, guarded. "I thought maybe I had done something wrong, I felt guilty about that for quite a while. But I couldn't think of anything. Came to figure maybe she was just having a bad day."

Goren passed Eames a look. She could tell he was thinking the same thing by the way he raised his eyebrows and frowned just slightly; shifted his portfolio from one hand to the other. He's not telling us everything.

"One more thing, Mr. Simmons: Was anyone with you during that time?" Goren wondered.

He hesitated. "Yeah, I went with a friend to a joint down the street. Hamburger joint, I mean," he added quickly. "I wasn't... you know, I was at a joint, you know."

Eames nodded. Again, Mr. Simmons, we'll only accuse you of murder. "How did you pay?"

"Cash," he answered immediately. "I always carry enough cash for supper the whole week."

"We'll be in touch," Goren said, allowing himself to sound slightly ominous. "And we'll need to take a statement about your friend and get his or her number."

xXx

As they headed back to the SUV, Goren summarized their inferences. "I got the impression he knew exactly why Iskra was being cold to him. He was acting guilty, shifty about it, like he knew he'd done something wrong." He started shaking his finger, and Eames knew he was trying to remember something. He gestured for them to stop a moment while he fished around in his portfolio. "Here..."

Alex tried to keep a decent space between them as she looked at the photo around his shoulder.It was the team, relaxed with a man in their midst, not in a suit. She could see now that the man was, in fact, Drake, wearing his work clothes. His arms were draped around a contented Iskra, and to his left, a woman poised rigidly several inches away, looking at him out of the corners of her eye. "Deliberate distance," she pointed out. "She's trying too hard not to touch him." They turned the formal photo over to get a name for the mystery woman. Audra Nicholson.

She looked at her partner, backing away a little, trying not to touch him too much. "I think Mr. Happy Meal was having an affair."

xXx

Review if you know what's good for you! Muahahahaha!

Questions to be answered next time:

Was Mr. Happy Meal having an affair?

Did his mistress have a motive for murder?

Will LMR quit pretending that anyone is paying attention to the mystery?

Will Bobby ever find out how Alex would look in that underwear he was eyeing? (Not in a K+ rated story)

Is LMR an evil tease for putting that image in your head?