Hmm, thanks for the lovely feedback on Part 1. Dark case file, kinda darker than I planned. Some of the Eames family is around, too. Off the subject, I think Anne Dudek of Covert Affairs would make a bang-up younger sister for Alex. Mix in some tenderness and a little family support, and whaddya get? Chapter 2. Standard disclaimers apply... You know what to do to keep this going :)
The Best Street in Brooklyn
CSU was busy establishing and preserving the crime scene, when Goren and Eames flashed their badges.
"Whatcha got?" Bobby asked the nearest tech.
"A helluva mess," she shook her head, indicating the body on the sidewalk outside the bank.
"Whoa!" Alex inhaled sharply. "Someone was pissed."
"I'd say," Bobby leaned down and looked at what was left of the man's face, and the large dark red stain over the groin. "Armani suit, briefcase," he lifted one of the hands and sniffed. "Garlic, basil, sun-dried tomato."
"Pesto for breakfast? Alex joked.
"Maybe," Bobby glanced up. "Still alone?"
"Uh huh," Alex assented. "Maybe they're having brunch at the Plaza."
The uniform standing nearest to them looked puzzled. "The shooter?"
Alex cut a glance at her partner, where do they get these kids?
Bobby smirked and explained aloud, "No, son, the feds."
Alex lifted the corpse's left hand. "Wedding ring, sapphire cufflinks, and a very nice Rolex."
"Dressed for success," Bobby quipped. At her surprised glance, he added, "What? You're rubbing off on me."
Alex chuckled, "Twelve years, I should think so."
According to his wallet, the deceased was one Samuel Mark Richman, age 40. "Rich man, no more." Alex muttered. Was it just her, or was fate teasing them mercilessly lately? She continued to peruse the wallet's contents. Full complement of platinum plastic, about a grand in cash, and pictures. Wife, two little kids, and an ultrasound picture. She felt her stomach turn as she squinted at the date, 4/2/11. Her heart sank further as she realized there were two little blips in the picture.
Just then, there was a commotion behind them, "Uh-oh."
Bobby flicked a glance at his partner.
"They're your friends," she goaded.
"Former colleagues, kinda," he rose to his feet, and moved towards the two FBI agents.
"Agent Stahl, Agent Morgan," Bobby extended his hand.
"Cut the crap, Goren," Darin Morgan snapped. "Our case."
"Really?" Bobby took in the NYPD crawling over the scene. "Not seeing any signs posted 'FBI.'"
"It's a murder, in a bank, ergo, it's a federal case!" Mary Stahl pointed at the front of the building.
"You can see it's a murder from here?" Goren smirked. "Could be, I dunno, a slip and fall? As for in the bank," he heard thunder in the distance. "I'd say the body's on the public sidewalk. In other words, NYPD."
"NYPD is about to lose the scene," Stahl said sarcastically.
"Nah, we've done this a few times," Bobby waved his arm. As if on cue, the techs popped up several canopies, thus protecting the body and scene from the coming rain. "C'mon," Bobby's tone was jovial. "Don't you have something better to do this fine morning? Leave the mess to the NYPD for a change."
"Fuck you, Goren," Morgan bit out the epithet. "Just because you're back at Major Case, doesn't make you God."
Bobby's expression hardened, "And people who fuck up and get the MCS captain killed shouldn't cast stones."
Stahl blanched at that. Before she could came back at him, or Morgan could do more than sputter, Eames strolled over.
Even from a distance, she could read her partner's body language. Alex held her cell phone out to Stahl, "Speaking of the MCS captain, this is for you."
Alex watched with satisfaction as Captain Hannah staked jurisdiction over the phone. Stahl punched the "end" button, and practically threw it back at Eames.
"Nice to see you again, too," Alex grinned spitefully as the two agents left.
They ducked under the nearest canopy as the rain swept in. Bobby looked askance at her.
"Hannah was in church when Stahl's boss tagged him, and he was pissed," she explained. "Seems Sharon was singing a solo and he missed it, courtesy of our lovely jurisdictional squabble. In our captain's words, the feds could take their claim and stick it up...well, you know where."
Bobby grinned, "Not exactly Christian language."
"He also told us that if we were crazy enough to work on Sunday, he would pray for our souls. Or sanity. Maybe both," her expression sobered. "You okay?"
Bobby fought the irritation at her concerned tone; she cares, you idiot. "Brought back a few bad memories," he admitted.
They returned to the task at hand, supervising the scene, extrapolating theories and launching their newest whodunit.
As they ran through the rain back to the SUV, Alex scowled at her phone, "One more thing, if that bitch broke my phone, the FBI's gonna pay."
Next came the notification, an address on Central Park West. Of all the things they detested about the job, lobbing a bomb into the survivors' lives ranked high. They badged the doorman, who waved them through to a security guard seated at a mahogany and granite console.
Old for a security guard, they thought, exchanging a glance. Must be pushing seventy-five.
"Mr, uh, Faber," Bobby read the polished nameplate, and flashed his badge. "Detective Eames and I need to speak to Mrs. Richman in 1242."
The old man was taken aback, "Uh, may I tell her what this is in regards to?" He reached for the phone.
"Police business, sir," Alex said formally.
"Understood," he nodded. "Was on the job myself for 30 years." Faber frowned as he got the voice mail. "Mrs. Richman isn't answering."
"Could you just..?" Bobby waved his hand towards the elevator.
"Of course," the security guard got up from the desk and stiffly walked over to the doorman. "Hey, Pete, hold the fort a minute."
Pete ambled over, and took a seat behind the console.
"Mr. Faber, we can handle this," Alex assured him.
The doors whisked closed and they began their ascent. "Ready?" Bobby inquired.
"Um hmm," Alex replied. "Weird, though. That she didn't answer when security called up."
"Might've been busy with the kids," he theorized.
"Or hurling into the porcelain throne," she thought back to the ultrasound photo.
No response at the apartment door, either. "Bad feeling about this," Bobby muttered.
She nodded, picking up her cell and punching in the DA's office. "Yes, this is detective Eames, Major Case. We've got a potential welfare situation, pregnant woman and two small children."
She paused, signaling to Bobby.
He picked up his own phone and verified that security had not seen the woman or her children leave the building thus far today.
"No, no one has seen them leave," he held his hand over the phone. "Gonna get them to pull the vid."
"We're here for a death notification, uh huh," Alex explained. "So, do we need a warrant?"
Apparently not, as she shook her head.
Bobby immediately insisted that someone from security grant access to the apartment.
Once Faber opened the door, Goren and Eames motioned him away.
"But Mrs Richman will be upset to see strangers in her home," the wizened old guard insisted.
"We're here to make sure she and her family are safe," Alex said through clenched teeth.
Guns drawn, she and Bobby swept into the home.
Stella Richman was certainly indisposed; they found her in the kitchen, tied to a chair, gagged, her throat slit. The remnants of breakfast sat on the table next to her. Alex checked for a pulse, shook her head at her partner. For a split second, she saw the woman's swollen belly, and put her hand there, tears stinging her eyes. Sometimes she hated this job.
"Eames," Bobby's soft voice brought her around. He jerked his head towards the bedroom wing. She joined him as they cleared the master bedroom and bath, then they checked the childrens' rooms. Now his face was as ashen as hers. Both children had met the fate of their parents. The first room was done in bright blues and greens, "Tate" spelled out in large letters above a trundle bed. The little boy, who looked to be about 7, was still, his lips blue. Petechial hemorrhages indicated he'd been smothered or strangled. He was lying in his bed, covers up as if he'd just fallen asleep after a hard day of play.
In the room across the hall, pink and lavender ruled. A room fit for a princess, one named Bella. She was tiny, age three at the most, and she was dead, tucked in as her brother was. Cause of death was not overtly evident.
They went back to the apartment's foyer, mute. Faber recognized their expressions immediately.
"Need to preserve the scene," Bobby took the older man's arm and steered him out to the hall.
Alex fumbled for her phone, "Central? Yeah, this is Detective Eames, MCS. We need CSU, the ME, and a bus." She steadied her voice and added the address. "Notify chief of D's." She paused, as she half-listened to her partner on his phone to Captain Hannah.
"Joe?" Bobby was pacing back and forth. "Hey, you gotta get over here. Vic's family...they're DOA."
For the next several hours, they were back to being Goren and Eames, processing the scene. They were tight-lipped, communicating silently most of the time. No sign of forced entry. The apartment was furnished elegantly, but comfortably. It seemingly presented as the people who lived there: warm, fashionable, but with a practicality suited to a growing family. Nothing seemed particularly out of place. There were a few unwashed loads of laundry in the hampers, toys strewn in the kids' rooms. No dirty dishes in the sink or dishwasher.
The breakfast Mrs. Richman had partially consumed was not tipped over, the newspaper she'd been reading dropped by her feet. She was clad in a silk robe over pajama bottoms and oversized t shirt, barefoot. She looked for all the world like a mommy grabbing a quiet breakfast while her husband was at the office, and her children were sleeping in. Except for the gag, the ties (silk curtain cords) and the gaping gash across her throat
The children appeared to have been asleep at the time of their deaths. Rodgers said as much to the detectives as she directed her assistants.
"Thank God for small favors," Alex muttered, as the tiny hands were bagged.
The day passed by in a blur. Crime scene photos. Witness interviews. Brass, press, and ADAs. It was four o'clock before they emerged from the apartment building, and headed to One PP. It was still raining like crazy, thunder rumbling.
Alex felt her stomach protest the countless cups of coffee she had consumed in the tiny security office, and a headache was sneaking from her shoulders and tense neck.
"Need some food," Bobby tried to brush the rain from his jacket.
"Chinese?" Alex asked absently.
"Something," he replied, and dialed his cell. "Turn on 5th, and I'll run in and get it.
On the eleventh floor, it looked like Monday morning rather than Sunday night. The phones were ringing, detectives were milling about. A war room was assembled, complete with murder board. The media room was up and running. Goren and Eames spared a moment to take care of necessities, then found an interrogation room in which to scarf some nutrition.
Alex's cell buzzed, and she glanced at the caller ID. Sighing, she picked up, "Hi, Dad. Sorry I missed...I know, it's Sunday."
Bobby mouthed, "Want me to leave?"
She shook her head vehemently, as she rolled her eyes heavenward. "We caught...yeah, that one. I know, we had to run the press gauntlet." She took a gulp of water. "Bobby grabbed us some Chinese, and we're gonna eat." She grimaced. "No, we don't. I will. I promise. Love you too." She flipped the phone off and sighed.
"Let me guess: All over the news. Any suspects? Oh, and don't stay there all night." Bobby conjectured.
"All of the above," Alex replied, a mouth full of almond chicken. She chewed, swallowed, and then looked at him regretfully. "I'm really sorry, Bobby."
"Why?" he was bewildered.
"Because we caught this case, and we weren't even up," she admitted. "I-it was an excuse...to pick you up after your appointment."
He regarded her in shock, "I could have said no. I didn't. This is what...what we do."
"I just..." she closed her eyes. "I knew it was your last session, and I was scared to death that...you wouldn't...we couldn't..."
"That if Gyson recommended I get out, that we wouldn't be working together," he finished.
"Yeah," she nodded, appalled at the tears stinging her eyes. "And no. I want...I want..."
He put a hand over hers, "I'm not going anywhere, Alex. And nothing made me happier than to see you this morning."
She curled her fingers tightly in his. "I'm glad," she smiled.
"When..when we get the hell out of here, can we t-talk about this a little more?" he liked the feel of her hand in his.
"I'd like that," Alex felt the stress of the day ease a little, replaced by the growing tenderness between them. She pulled her hand from his reluctantly, letting her fingertips trail over his wrist.
Pity that this case threatened to overwhelm everyone it touched. Bobby and Alex knew that this would consume them in the days and weeks to come. It meant hours and hours in the office, in the field, witness interviews, forensics...barely going home to sleep, shower and start all over again.
And there were two families to be notified now. Stella Richman's family lived in and around Boston, so Boston PD would handle that. Samuel Richman was from Jersey, his parents resided in Elizabeth. They drove to the west, wipers slapping at the rain.
Alex concentrated on the road, while Bobby studied his binder.
"No record for either spouse," he said aloud. "Richman has been a bank employee for, uh, 15 years. Mortgages, mostly. Wife's been homemaker for about 7 years."
"About the time their first kid was born," Alex assented.
"Before that, she was a teller in the same bank branch as her husband," he continued. "According to their financials, they have...holy shit, 30 million in investments!"
"Maybe they won the lottery," Alex said sarcastically.
As it turned out, they had won the lottery, six years before. Ben and Madeleine Richman lived in a comfortable ranch style home, and they seemed worlds away from the high-powered existence of their son.
"He was a great kid, worked two jobs while going to college. Never gave us a bit of trouble," his father's voice broke. "After they hit the lottery, he kept working. Not for the money, but because he wanted to help people get their own homes."
"Mortgage bankers have had a tough sled the past several years. Your son make any enemies?" Alex asked.
"Oh, I'm sure there were some unhappy people," Madeleine said. "But Sam was compassionate, he worked to do right by as many people as he could. The thing about the lottery win, he gave a big chunk away. To our family, Stella's, to charities. He was so grateful that he could provide a secure future for his children..." she sobbed brokenly.
The detectives left the home, and headed back to the office.
"These were good people," Bobby said after a long silence.
"Someone sure as hell didn't think so," Alex sighed.
Bobby's phone beeped, "Yeah, Goren." A pause, then "We'll be there in about thirty."
"Rodgers, says she's got the prelims on the posts."
They walked into the morgue as Rodgers was finishing with Stella Richman.
"Gimme a minute," she pulled off her protective gear, and waved them to the side.
Alex was struck by the two small specimens in a wide tray next to Mrs Richman.
Rodgers followed her gaze, "Boy and girl, about 20 weeks. No trauma to the abdomen, fetuses looked healthy."
"Except for their dead mother," Alex said bitterly.
"COD was exsanguination, due to a severed jugular. Perp used a scalpel to puncture here," she indicated a spot on the left side of the throat.
"What about the slash, then?" Bobby inquired, looking closely.
"For show, postmortem, I guess," she rubbed her hand across her brow. "No defensive wounds, so I'm guessing she knew her assailant. No sexual assault, either."
Alex turned her head from the two fetuses, and swallowed bile, "And the rest of the family?"
"Samuel Richman bought it from what looks to be a 45, head and groin. Ballistics is thinking a silencer, from the looks of the slugs," the ME continued. She moved to the next room, where the childrens' bodies lay. "Tate Richman was smothered, again no defensive wounds. Was probably asleep, perp used a pillow from the bed. Isabella Richmond was..." Rodgers stumbled over the words. "Her neck was snapped. She looked to have been asleep as well."
"Time of death?" Bobby asked.
"0945 for the husband," she answered. "Gotta love surveillance cameras. Between 0800 and 0900, for the wife and kids."
They murmured their thanks and headed back upstairs. The din in the office had lessened considerably, and Bobby and Alex dug in for the long haul.
With the exception of a few hours of tortured sleep in the crib, they burned through the rest of Sunday and well into Monday, fueled by adrenalin and righteous anger.
At ten o'clock Monday night, Hannah stopped by the conference room where Alex was tapping data into her laptop, while Bobby was sorting through video surveillance. An empty pizza box and discarded coffee cups were piled on a chair. Bobby's shirt was half-unbuttoned, tie and jacket gone, and a full shadow of beard covered his face. Alex was pale, the lines around her mouth pinched. Dark circles adorned both their eyes.
"Hey, you two, time to call it a night," their captain requested.
The detectives exchanged a glance.
"Cut the super-cop bullshit, neither one of you can keep up this pace. Go home, get eight hours, and start fresh tomorrow," he ordered.
Resigned, they left, hoping to leave the horror of the last few days behind for a little while. In the elevator to the parking garage, they said little. Alex dropped Bobby at the MTA, then drove on to Forest Hills.
She walked into her apartment, feeling like it was ten years since she left Sunday morning. She stood under the shower spray, trying to wash away the images in her brain of the Richman family. Her jaw clenched, her inability to cry physically painful. Like a robot, she went through her nightly routine, setting the coffee maker, checking her messages, rifling through her mail. She poured a large glass of wine, downing it in a few gulps. Alex crawled into bed, still unable to relax. She looked at the phone, and then picked it up. She lay in the dark, hoping she hadn't wakened Bobby.
He picked up on the first ring, "I knew it was you."
"Can't seem to shut my brain up," she admitted ruefully.
"Me either," he sighed.
She heard the hiss of a lighter and could almost smell the menthol and tobacco, "Bobby..."
"I know, I know," he groaned.
"No, that's not it," she rolled onto her side. "If I smoked, I'd be lighting up right now, too."
"Then what?" he leaned back on his couch, taking a gulp of scotch.
"I wanted to talk about yesterday, before the day got napalmed," she said softly.
"Alex, you really want to do this on the phone?" he inquired. "Because I'd rather do it in person."
"Me, too," she confessed. "But I just wanted to...were you really glad to see me yesterday?"
"I was," he said. "In fact, I-uh, wanted to talk about how glad I was. How...um, important you are to me."
Alex felt a warmth spreading through her, "Bobby, these past couple months...I think I've been happier than...been in a long time."
"Me, too," he said huskily. "And it's not...just the job. It's because I have..you in my life."
"You never lost me," she whispered.
"I want us, aw, shit, how do I say this? My shrink...we talk about whether it's possible for me to have a normal life," he stammered. "W-with someone."
"You think that's what you want," she smiled in the dark, hope spreading through her.
"I'd like to try," his voice was more certain. "With you."
She felt her breath rush from her lungs.
"Uh, Alex, are you there?" he felt panicky.
"Oh, I'm here," she chuckled.
"Well?" his voice rose anxiously.
"I'd like that very, very much," she assured him.
"Um, well, uh, glad we got that cleared up," he stammered. "See you in the morning?"
"Bobby Goren, you're just going to leave it at that?" she teased.
"Look, I'm not...not asking you over the phone," he insisted.
"Wouldn't bother me," she grinned. "It's not like we don't know each other."
"We're gonna do this right," Bobby growled softly.
"Like the growl thing, it's kind of sexy," Alex said archly.
"Alex!" he chuckled.
"In the interest of full disclosure," she deadpanned. "Sweet dreams, Bobby. Or naughty ones. I won't be offended."
"Well, it wouldn't be the first time you starred in one of my, um, naughty dreams," he teased. "Night." he hung up.
Alex looked at the phone, then laid it on the nightstand. "Very funny, Goren."
Whether it was the alcohol, the total exhaustion, or the scintillating bedtime chat, detectives Goren and Eames slept reasonably well.
Tuesday morning began badly. There were no obvious suspects emerging in the Richman case, the press was in a feeding frenzy, and everyone from the brass to the DA's office was demanding answers.
The autopsy and crime scene photos were spread over the conference room table, while they tried to see a connection of any kind. The afternoon began with interviews with the families, who were arriving in the city for funeral arrangements.
Alex stepped out of one of the interrogation rooms and went back to her desk. "Anything from yours?" she asked Bobby.
"No, not a thing," he scrubbed his face with his hand. "You?"
"They were the perfect little family, everyone loved them...blah, blah," she sighed. "I'm going to the little girls room and find some sugar. Want anything?"
He rose to go back to the war room, "Surprise me. I'm gonna look at the household staff again. They have a maid who's MIA, and there a couple maintenance guys from the building we haven't been able to touch base with."
Bobby was trying to get contact info on the maid, when a cell phone buzzed. He picked it up, "Goren."
The caller's tone was a little surprised, "Bobby? Where's Alex?"
Bobby held the phone away from his ear, realizing he had picked up his partner's phone. Liz cell, the caller ID read. "Aw, sorry, Liz," he apologized to his partner's sister. "She's out for a break. Picked her phone up by mistake."
"That's okay, I was just checking in. Dad told me you guys caught the Richman case," Liz sounded sympathetic.
"Yeah, we did. Can I give her a message? She ought to be back in a minute," Bobby replied.
"I was just going to ask her if she wanted to come over for dinner tonight," Liz said.
"I'll let her know that, Liz, but considering how our day is going..." Bobby hesitated.
"Hey, I may not be a cop but I grew up in a family of them," she acknowledged. "And you're welcome to come for dinner, too."
"That's nice of you, thanks," he said. "Um, I actually...there is something you could do for your sister."
"Sure," Liz was a little surprised.
"If you could bring Nate by, I think that would make her day," Bobby requested.
"He should be getting back from day camp in about a half hour," she said.
"Thanks a lot," he was very appreciative. "This case...it's a bitch."
"Sounds like it," Alex's sister agreed. "We'll get there as soon as we can."
Bobby hung up and went back to the task at hand. He looked up when his partner came back into the room. "Oh-oh."
"Damn right," Alex fumed, putting a cup of coffee in front of him, and then proceeded to rip open packets of sugar and dump them into her own cup.
"Vending machine out of Skittles, " he sighed. "Your sister called."
"Eames family grapevine alive and well," she groaned.
"Gonna call her back?" Bobby asked.
"No, she'll just want to ask me to dinner or something," she said darkly, "Like I'd have time." She flipped open her laptop.
An hour later, Detective Daniels stuck his head in the conference room, "Hey, Eames, you got a couple visitors."
Alex looked up in surprise, "Be back in a minute."
Bobby stood in the doorway as she crossed the bullpen, relishing the joy on her face at the sight of her nephew.
"Aunt Alex, we brought you a surprise!" the seven year old practically shouted, catapulting himself into her arms.
"Nate, manners," his mother admonished gently.
Alex sat in her desk chair, pulled the little boy into her lap, and hugged him close. She rubbed her cheek into his soft strawberry blond hair, not sure if she could trust herself to speak.
Liz felt her heart break a little, seeing her sister's face, "Like your surprise?"
"Love it," Alex answered gratefully. "Thank you so much."
"Don't thank me, thank your partner," her little sister smirked.
Alex turned and looked across the bullpen. She beckoned him over, eyes shining with unshed tears.
"I, um, picked up your phone by mistake," he said sheepishly.
"Hey, you didn't get your surprise yet," Nate tugged at his mom. "Bobby, we brought one for you, too!"
Liz handed them two small boxes, warning them, "He picked them out himself."
Nate bounced on Alex's lap, "It's cupcakes!" he announced.
"Skittles cupcakes!" Alex kissed all over the little boy's face. "My favorite-ist!"
"Nate, buddy, you may have saved many lives today," Bobby grinned, opening his own treat.
Liz smiled, "We know you're working, we just thought you'd enjoy the sugar fix. Nate, tell Bobby and Alex bye."
"Aw, man," Nate sighed, sliding off his aunt's lap.
Bobby knelt to the little boy's level, "Thanks for bringing us cupcakes, Nate." He touched the boy's nose, wiggled his fingers, then pulled a quarter from behind Nate's ear.
"Mommy, look!" his brown eyes were like saucers.
Alex walked Liz and Nate to the elevator, then returned to the conference room where Bobby had gone back to work.
"Pretty classy move, Goren," she kicked the door shut.
"I can rise to the occasion," he smirked.
She leaned over the edge of the table, not caring that they were at work. She whispered, "That was the sweetest thing you have ever done, and exactly what I needed today." She leaned over and pressed a brief kiss to his lips.
Boy, this chapter ended up way darker and longer than I expected. Less dark and more fun the next chapter, I promise. If you review, that is.