A/N Hey, peeps! Another late one, but it is finally here! Enjoy, and don't forget to drop me a line either here or on twitter IMTOTESAWRITER
"Fifteen- twenty three, responding to a 10-45, anybody available to assist?" Nick spoke through the radio.
New rules. Anonymous tips and call outs require a two squad minimum. They can't have another ambush. They might actually kill someone this time.
"This is Fifteen nineteen, we got your back." Andy recognised Oliver's voice.
"Okay." Andy kicked it into a lower gear, flicking the sirens on as they crept through a red light, speeding up on the other side of the intersection.
"Ten bucks says this is an O.D." Nick commented, fiddling with the computer.
"Oh, yeah?" Andy responded with a frown. "Twenty says its a homeless person just taking a nap. That's happened way too many times before."
"Deal." He replied taking a sip of his coffee.
"Hand me one of those 'peace offerings'." Andy requested sardonically as Nick peered into the bag.
"Fifteen twenty three, we found him. Confirm that 10-45." Andy breathed into her shoulder radio, then glanced back toward the road. "I'll call the D's." she informed her partner.
Nick walked ahead of her, stopping to kneel down and check the young man's pulse. It was protocol. But it was clear he was dead.
Andy opened her cellphone.
"Jerry, it's Andy. We've got a body between two apartment buildings down in Midtown. Can you bring your team?"
"Just text me the address." he answered, hanging up.
She thumbed it into a short message and sent it off.
She looked around them, slipping her phone back into her pocket. They were down the middle of two apartment buildings. Wasn't the most stylish of places with clothes lines strung across the balconies, the pale concrete stained with muck all the way up to the first floor. They stood on a narrow concrete walkway that met up in line with the property boundary of the buildings either side. Rotting, peeling fence palings lined the alley. There was trash lying around everywhere, blocking the drain at the curb. Oliver was on the sidewalk in front of one of the buildings, taking notes from the lady that called it in. She couldn't have been over nineteen years old. She had a baby on her hip.
"Kids got track marks," Nick noted.
Andy turned back to their 10-45. Nick, hands gloved, pointed to the needle marks in the crease of his elbow. There wasn't much they could do at this point besides wait for the D's, and the coroner. The station was in a blitz trying to figure out who was targeting 15; it wouldn't surprise her if a 10-45 was kind of low on their list of priorities. After all, he wasn't going anywhere.
Andy scanned over him. His skin was really pale, his limbs contorted. He still appeared to be in Rigor Mortis. His shirt had ridden up to his navel, the patch of skin visible was also a chalky white colour; but when Andy crouched down to examine closer, his skin turned more pinkish on his side then into a deep purple towards his back. Lividity.
That narrows down the time frame for when he died.
She stood up with a frown.
"He's got slippers on."
"Must have come out at night maybe, to shoot up." Nick offered in explanation.
Andy considered this. She'd made trips to this neighbourhood quite a few times; mostly domestic disturbances. One time a meth lab had blown up.
"Have you found any needles? Baggies? Teaspoons? A lighter?"
Nick just shook his head, his lips pressed together. The smell was petty bad, especially with the warmer weather.
You had to learn to breathe through your mouth, but then you risked getting that stale taste stuck on your tongue.
At least there was no blood.
Jerry strode toward the crime scene, as he always did, with a sense of purpose and power. His pea coat collar stiff and upright around his neck. Forensic techs followed closely behind him. Andy and Nick spread to make room, backing up to the edge of the yellow tape as Jerry closed in.
"We'll start cataloguing; Collins, McNally, grab Oliver and start canvassing for witnesses."
"Yes, sir." Nick responded, glancing at Andy.
They both started back down toward the mouth of the alleyway. They caught Oliver finishing up with the caller. Andy and Nick went East, Oliver went West down the street.
"You owe me twenty bucks, by the way." Nick started as they bumped elbows along the sidewalk.
"We don't know if it's an O.D. yet, though." Andy reasoned, raising an eyebrow and turning sharply toward the lobby of the apartment building next to the scene.
"This is kind of hopeless," Nick commented, pulling the door open for Andy.
"What makes you say that?" she asked, confused.
"People in this kind of neighbourhood aren't gonna want to talk even if they saw anything. Besides, I doubt anybody did. My bet is this happens a lot around here."
Andy cocked her head to the side, shrugging.
"So, what if it does? Maybe this is the one time when it's nothing to do with where they live."
Andy knocked on the first door they came to. A short elderley lady answered, glasses as thick as the bottom of a coke bottle. She pushed them up her crook nose and squinted.
"Can I help you?" she mumbled, voice coarse with age.
"I'm Officer Andy McNally, this is my partner Officer Collins." Andy flashed her badge, holding it up a little longer for the short sighted woman to inspect.
"Officers...?"
"Yes, ma'am." she deposited it back in her pocket. "There's been an incident outside your apartment." Andy explained.
"Do you have a moment to answer a couple of questions?"
White eyebrows fell low over enormous eyes.
"Incident...?"
Andy could see Nick shifting his weight out of the corner of her eye; he was getting impatient already.
"Yes. Did you see anything suspicious in the last few days? Maybe last night?" Andy continued, ignoring him.
"No...I don't know...anything..." she slowly pushed the door closed, effectively ending their interview.
"Told you." Nick said sardonically. "We're gonna hit a wall with everybody in this building. People don't get involved here. Just incase we get too interested in them instead of what they have to say."
"Doesn't mean we get to skip the boring part."
He was right, not that Andy was surprised. Nobody in the building; twelve apartments in total, wanted to give any information. However, it was quite possible it was a lack of information not just a disrespect for the system.
Perhaps the kid died quietly. Perhaps they'd find out more when they had an I.D. Maybe if the locals knew the boy, giving them a name could spark a dilemma of morality, forcing them to give some kind of news despite the silent culture.
Andy was shuffling up the sidewalk to the next house. Shabby and derelict, it didn't produce much hope.
The garden was unkempt, and messy; trash littered around the front lawn. Nick took the lead on this one, Andy flanked his left side.
He rapped his knuckles against the front door twice.
They heard shuffling in the background, as if someone was moving stuff out of the way to reach the door. Lights flickered through the window. It was hitting dusk. The street light blinked.
"I'm coming!" a muffled assurance from inside.
Something scraped against the floor, then the knob turned, the door creaked and a young woman appeared. Dark hair tied back in a pony tail, dark eyes, pallid skin and loose grey clothes.
"Sorry to bother you, ma'am." Nick began. "But would you be able to answer a few questions for us about an incident earlier today."
The girl nodded, frowning.
"Great," Nick had to fumble around to grab his note pad, not expecting anyone to agree to talk.
Andy smirked at his awkwardness and started wandering off to their left. This girl could be the same age as their victim; it was hard not to know people your own age in your own neighbourhood.
Andy's first boyfriend was her next door neighbour. They were fourteen.
Glancing back at Nick taking notes, Andy scoped out the rest of the property. The windows facing the road were obscured by thick curtains.
Andy hopped down onto the grass off the cracked concrete stoop. Pausing at the corner of the house, peering down the side, she saw a swingset in the backyard, only partially visible through the timber paling fence.
She walked slowly toward the fence, then stopped when she was out of sight, having noticed the windows on this side of the house were covered with what looked like cardboard.
Maybe they were trying to keep warm? Andy shuffled closer, stepping into the bare garden bed that ran against the house, down to the fence. He boots sunk a little in the soft dirt. She curled her fingers over the window sill, pressing her face closer to a gap in the cardboard; a piece of duct tape had come away, leaving it open.
It was getting darker, so it was easy to see inside without the sun's glare.
Andy frowned, counting about eight children inside, sitting huddled on the sofa, watching something on somebody's cellphone.
Besides the cellphone lighting the wall behing them in a soft blue, the only other light flickered a few feet away from them on a small coffee table. Red candles.
Andy could have guessed they'd had their electricity switched off. She tried inspecting the rest of the room, but the lack of light threw a lot of darkness over the space.
She backed away from the window, stepping out of the barron garden bed. Glancing down at her feet, she noticed what looked like white paint chips freckling the dirt.
"McNally?" Nick called out from the front of the house.
Andy gathered herself and walked back.
"Kathy, this is my partner, McNally." he held his arm out straight, introducing them.
Andy, confused, stepped up to beside Nick, then held her hand out for the girl to shake. Kathy took it with a tense smile.
"If you have any more information, please don't hesitate to contact either of us." Nick continued. "We really appreciate your help."
Kathy took her hand back, folding it with her other across her chest and nodding.
When she'd closed the door behind them and they made their way back down to the sidewalk, Andy told Nick what she saw.
"She said they're like an unofficial drop-in centre. They bring in kids from the street. Our victim is known as Marcus." he held up his notes in front of him, squinting to make out his scrawl in the dark.
"They're not doing much for the kids if they can't even afford to pay their electric bill." Andy mused. "Did Marcus live with them?"
Nick shook his head.
"Not according to Kathy. She said she'd seen him around the neighbourhood, hung around with some other junkies. No-one in particular, she said."
Andy hummed, then sighed, turning this information over in her mind.
"You gonna pay me that twenty bucks yet?" Nick knocked her elbow with his but Andy was already shaking her head, pouting.
"Not until we know cause of death."
They regrouped with Oliver back at the crime scene.
"I got nothing." he shrugged as Jerry fixed him with an expectant stare.
Shoulders slumped, he focused his attention on Andy.
"Nobody wanted to talk," she offered without needing the question. "But Nick got one, a young girl, about the same age, we guessed. Next street over, said she'd seen him around the neighbourhood with other addicts, watched them scoring on street corners and stuff."
"Anything else? Address? Name?"
"Oh, his name is Marcus." Nick spoke up. "No last name."
"At least that's something, Macus No-Last-Name." Jerry stared at the ground, bare from where Marcus had laid.
The coroner had taken the body already, zipped up, wrapped, packed and sealed. There wasn't much dignity in the process.
"The girl, what was her name? Did she seem credible?"
"Kathy. She seemed honest enough. They run a drop in centre for homeless kids. They deal unofficially with the church."
Jerry looked up and down their alleyway again and sighed.
"Corroborate with the church, maybe we'll get lucky and they'll know our guy." He told them, crouching down to inspect the ground again.
They stopped by the church to speak to somebody, but it was dark and empty. Andy resolved to call in the next day. Instead, they made their way back to the barn to wrap up their shifts.
For now, there was nothing more they could do for Marcus.
Andy got changed in the locker room, wondering what she could do to distract Sam for the evening. She was buttoning up her favourite red checkered shirt when Traci came in with one hand supporting her lower back, and the other rested atop her now very obvious belly.
"Hey," Andy grinned, patting the shirt down her front. "How're you feeling?"
Traci groaned before taking a seat on the metal bench.
"Half way, Andy. I'm only half freaking way. It's unnatural for pregnancy to be this long." She stretched her legs out, crossing them at the ankles.
Andy shrugged.
"Elephants have a gestational period of almost two years." She commented, her mouth stretching into a grimace when Traci gave her a deadpan look.
She held in a chuckle, Traci narrowing her eyes.
"I can't wait until you get pregnant," she growled. "Cause then it'll be me making fun of you...you and your still youthful body...calling me an elephant...you and your pain in the ass little Swarek baby. "
Andy's eyebrows rose in surprise. She didn't even have a comeback.
"Can't freaking wait, McNally." She smirked at Andy's dumbfounded expression.
"Yeah, yeah," Andy brushed it off, rolling her eyes at her best friend. "But for now, it's about you. How's Leo dealing with it?"
"Ridiculously excited, it's painfully adorable." She shook her head, smiling down at her stomach.
"And Jerry?" Andy added without thinking.
Traci gave her another look.
"Up until a few days ago, it was all he'd talk about. Now, I guess he's got a lot on his plate."
She was referring to Gail getting shot. And because of Luke being on Frank's shit list, he wasn't assisting, even if it wasn't actually a homicide.
Andy nodded, turning around to close up her locker.
"Let me know if you need anything, okay?" Andy grabbed her bag, then leant down to kiss her on the cheek.
Traci smiled.
"Will do."
Sam sauntered down the hospital corridor, cringing with every squeak his boots made against the floor. He got to Gail's room, filled to the brim with gift baskets and flowers. For such an angry person who didn't like people, she sure had a lot of people that loved her.
He wrapped on the door with his knuckles.
A soft voice replied, "I'm not buying any bibles."
Sam chuckled, opening the door. She was sitting up in bed, her food table hovering her lap. A deck of cards laid out in place of food.
"Oh, hey, you bring me anything worthwhile today?" Her eyebrows raised and her lips pursed, it was easy to forget she was sitting in a hospital bed healing from a gunshot wound.
"Here," Sam placed the pink pastry box on top of her card game.
She gasped, her expression obviously a little taken aback by his thoughtfulness. Her favourite doughnuts.
He watched her for a moment as he slung his jacket over the back of an armchair, taking a seat.
Her expression changed then, and Sam could tell her next words were going to be biting.
"I think you've just moved up a notch on my 'people whom I tolerate' list. Good job."
Sam smirked and shook his head.
"How's it coming along" he jerked his chin, eyes pointing to her shoulder.
She had to look where he was to realise what he was talking about.
"Not bad. No organs were hit, it was lucky it didn't knick my lung. I'll be out of here in a few days, probably back to work in the next month." She bit down on a pink doughnut with rainbow sprinkles. "Who knew I could bleed, right?" She smirked,
Sam kicked his feet up to rest at the foot of her bed.
"You sure you're up for it that soon? I mean, there could be someone still targeting you."
At this, Gail lowered the doughnut in her hand, looking away to inspect the opposite wall. Her shoulders lifted ever so slightly, but her mouth stretched and her eyes tucked in a wince of pain.
"That was supposed to be a shrug." She said, then looked back at Sam. "So what if there is? Staying at home, unarmed and alone is probably the worst thing I could do."
"I don't like to bring it up, but your parents are in high places. I'm sure they'll be able to swing a protective detail into the picture."
Gail rolled her eyes.
"I'm sure they can, but I wanna be there when they catch the son of a bitch."
"Which brings me to my next question. They're going through every case file you've worked on in the past month or two, figuring that maybe you made an enemy along the way. Can you remember anybody you particularly pissed off?"
She lifted an eyebrow making Sam reword his question.
"I mean, more than usual."
Gail stuffed the rest of the doughnut into her mouth.
"I can't think of anything that sticks out." She answered around the food, her cheeks bulging.
"I had a grow house bust with Oliver not too long ago." She offered as a suggestion. "That was fun."
"Pot addled low life not happy that you destroyed his business...maybe...I'll get Jerry to look into it." Sam pressed his palms to the arms of the chair, pushing himself up to a stand.
"I better get going."
"So what's up with you?" Gail continued as if he hadn't said anything.
Sam shifted his weight onto the other foot, shrugging.
"Nothing." He answered, not used to receiving the question from someone like Gail.
She scrutinised him for a while.
"Sure." It was small and it was hardly noticeable but it was still sarcasm.
"What?" Sam pressed back defensively.
Gail just laid back in her bed, examine the other doughnuts before making a selection.
"You know what. Don't ask me." She pulled another pink one out.
Sam ran his tongue over his teeth inside his mouth, fishing in his brain for a response.
But there wasn't one. Because he knew what she was talking about. And it was Andy. It was always Andy. It was always going to be Andy.
Gail finished her doughnut in silence.
Gail's words echoed in his head as he made his way home and continued on repeat.
It thumped behind his eyes and made his throat dry as he pulled up outside his house. The lights inside were on so Andy had beat him home.
He smelled cooking from the stoop outside. Fumbling with his keys, he couldn't help but let himself hope. Hope for something like this to continue, coming home to Andy everyday.
Pushing inside, he shed his jacket and boots. He really needed a coat rack or something. Leaving them on top of Andy's.
"Sam?" Her voice stretched from the kitchen.
"Yeah," he replied. "What are you doing?"
She turned her head towards him with a smile, hands still occupied with something on the stove. He smiled back, his hands stopping to rest on her hips.
"I'm making dinner."
Sam rested his chin on her shoulder, peering down at the saucepan. He felt her sigh, his arms snaking around her waist.
He breathed her in, the soft smell of her hair, her skin. He pressed his lips to her neck.
They swayed a little together, and just breathed. She continued with her ministrations as Sam kept held of her and closed his eyes.
"My dad used to hit me."