Faith, Hope & Charity

A Faith Lehane Mystery

by

STFarnham

AKA Lancer47

AKA LancerFourSeven

Chapter Five

"You disarmed a police officer!" Stone exclaimed, "How?"

"Did I mention that I teach unarmed combat to police officers?"

"No," Barrington sighed heavily, "you left that out."

"Lots of things I haven't mentioned, but I'm trying to get you caught up. Anyway, I could see I was in trouble, so I took his gun and his extra clips, unloaded them, and put the bullets in the trunk of his car. I put the gun back in his holster and asked him to call the station and get the murder investigation going. Then we waited for his buddies to get there."

"So when his backup arrived, how come he didn't say anything about being disarmed?" Stone looked boggled.

"Did you get a chance to talk to Officer Randy?"

"No."

"Lucky you. He's a halfwit, he was far too worried about looking foolish in front of his peeps than doing what needed to be done. Besides, I still don't know why he was planning to fuckin' kill me."

"Yeah, how sure are you about that? I mean, is this sort of thing common for you?"

"Not precisely, but when I'm not teaching cops, sometimes I work as a bounty hunter." The bounty hunter thing was one of the cover stories Giles and Buffy and me (damn it! me or I, I can't fucking tell!) had worked out; a preplanned position complete with a license from the state of Ohio. From time to time I even went after actual skips; it wasn't as good as slaying vamps, but it wasn't boring.

"Hmmm, okay. Let's suppose you were right, then that puts the Patrolman in line for a great deal of suspicion. I will investigate, you..."

"No no, I'll be right with you every step of the way. One interesting thing, Officer Randy knew my name."

"You mean he recognized your name at the station?"

"No, he called me 'Miss Lehane' at the house, before I introduced myself or was in any way identified, although I had told him I was the owner of Aunt Helen's house. I don't see how he could have gotten 'Lehane' form that, though."

"Hmmm." He was quiet for the rest of the ride, I could almost hear the wheels turning in his head as he thought about it. We pulled up to Aunt Helen's house – no, it was my house now – and there was crime scene tape over the door, but my bike was outside the tape right where I left it.

Stone took a long intense look at my Harley and said, "Nice bike." It looked like love at first sight.

"Yeah, it's my pride and joy." He didn't answer since he was too busy eye-fucking the Fat Boy and trying not to drool.

He finally shook himself loose and said, "Well, as nice as your ride is, it's not for me. So let's see about your house."

"Well," I said, "I guess I need to find a place to stay until they let me back in."

"Yeah, you can stay with me, I've got a couple of guest rooms. In the meantime, I think I'll take a look at the crime scene."

"Yeah? I know getting past yellow tape is easy, but then how do you make it look unbroken when we're through?"

"I have a rolls of crime-scene tape from all nearby police departments in my car."

I laughed, "Hey Stone, you and me's gonna get along." He casually ripped the tape off the door and wadded it up in his pocket. He opened the door and went in. I frowned, "Hey, the fuckin' cops didn't lock up! Any creep could walk in and steal my stuff!"

"Yeah, they probably plan to post someone here, so we'd better listen carefully for cars. Here, let's tape up the front door, and go around back. That way we have time to tape the door and stroll around the house as if we're a law-abiding lawyer and client inspecting the outside."

"Sounds good." I also rolled my Harley down the steps and parked it next to Stone's ride. I guess they must have towed Roger's car.

Back inside we looked around. I showed him the bloodstains where Roger ended up, and Stone looked around and found a couple of bullet holes. He didn't say much. I noticed an expensive looking pen on the counter next to the phone, and weirdly, a large white feather on the floor at the edge of the bloodstain. Huh, where did that came from? I wondered.

We wandered through the rest of the first floor. He stopped in front of a painting of Greenwich Village – I knew that's what it was because it was labeled 'Greenwich Village in the Spring', so I pretty much figured it out. I kinda liked it.

Stone said, "My mother was Matilda Stone, that's one of hers."

"Yeah? I like it."

"Umm, you should check your insurance policy, that's worth better'n a million dollars these days."

"You're shittin' me!"

"I shit you not. There's only about fifty Matilda Stone paintings in existence, and they're getting famous now."

"We'd better get going, I hear a car coming."

"I don't hear anything."

"Trust me, they're just coming through the gates."

He looked at me funny, but we went out the kitchen door. He stuck new cop-tape across the door frame and then we adopted casual expressions and strolled around the corner with intent to deceive.

I had parked my motorcycle next to Stone's car, just as if we had driven in together, to try to keep any officious little shits from impounding it. So we waited by Stone's car and watched a black Suburban drive up. "New York State government plates," I said to Stone.

"Yeah, I bet they're from BCI." At my look he elaborated, "Bureau of Criminal Investigation. They're major-crime investigators from the New York State Police. These people probably wanted to be FBI agents but didn't get accepted."

"Oh great, more incompetents."

"Probably not – the FBI turns away 95% or more of qualified applicants. The Staties are better trained than local police and sheriff departments, but sometimes they have major attitude because they couldn't get into the major leagues. Although some of them prefer being in the smaller jurisdiction of a state – I've heard it described as a large fish in a small pond being preferable to a small fish in large pond."

"Well, they couldn't be any worse than the local cops."

We shut up because they had pulled up and parked next to us. Two men and a woman got out, and they sure looked like Feds.

"Hello, I'm BCI Agent Black," said the woman, "and this is Agent Rastovich and Agent Collins. Are you the owners of this house?"

I said, "I am. I'm Faith Lehane, and this is my lawyer, Stone Barrington."

The agents nodded at us. If they were dismayed at having a lawyer present, they didn't show it.

"We're investigating the death of – "

"Yeah I know," I sighed, "Roger Wilkerson."

Black looked surprised. "No. We're investigating the death of Helen Wilkerson."

"Aunt Helen? Why? I thought she died of natural causes." I noticed Stone looking suddenly attentive, kind of like a bird dog that just spotted a duck falling to earth.

"No. She was stabbed in the neck with something like a large serving fork. It might have been an accident except there was nothing like a large fork in the room where she was found."

I was caught completely off-guard. Aunt Helen was killed by a vampire? Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck! I hate those fucking things! I suddenly felt out of breath. "I need to sit down," I nearly gasped. I felt clammy and hot and cold and angry and guilty all at the same time. Guilty, because I hadn't been there to protect her. Stone gave me a hand as I stumbled towards the steps and sat down.

Agent Black, a competent looking tall and athletic forty-something woman with brilliant red hair, helped me and sat next to me. She said, "I apologize, we didn't realize you didn't know she'd been murdered."

"Who would want to kill Aunt Helen?" I asked, more for form than anything else, vampires didn't need a reason other than being hungry.

"We don't know, but there are several possible motivations."

"Really? She was nice. I thought everybody liked her. I know I did."

"She was worth a great deal of money, she controlled much more, and several people had expressed the desire to outlive her. One of our chief suspects, however, appears to be dead now."

I noticed Agent Rastovich was typing away at his laptop. He looked up and said, "Yep, it was today, Roger Wilkerson was found dead, here at this house, by this young lady right here." Three pairs of eyes swiveled accusingly in my direction.

"Hey, I didn't kill him – " I was going to explain about the restaurant in the village before I discovered him shot in the kitchen, but Stone interrupted me.

"At this time my client has nothing to say to you on this matter. Right?" He turned to bore a look into my eyes.

"Hey, I'm innocent," I said, innocently, "I have nothing to hide..."

But Stone continued on right over my words, "Faith, trust me, don't talk. There is nothing you can say to police officers that can help you, especially when you're innocent. From this point on, say nothing without my direct okay." He smiled apologetically to the Agents. Surprisingly, they looked like they agreed, although they were obviously irritated.

Agent Rostovich said, "Our own crime scene unit was here this morning at the request of the local police, and they did a GSR test on Ms Lehane – it was negative."

The Agents all relaxed – but just a little. Agent Black said, "So it was self-defense?"

"What? No!" I exclaimed, "I don't know – " But Stone stopped me again.

"My client has nothing to say to you at this time," he repeated, "please stop questioning her until we have a more formal arrangement."

Agent Black said, "All right, all right, you're not an active suspect for Roger, but you are at least a witness, even if after the fact. But you are a suspect for your aunt's murder, since you had motive." I glared at the Agents. I started to reply heatedly, but Stone put his hand on my shoulder with unmistakable motions to keep my fucking mouth closed.

Black finally said, "Shall we go inside and look around?"

I was going to give them a smart-assed comment, but Stone's instructions were starting to take hold. I didn't understand why though, doesn't being innocent count? Maybe not, I could remember some of my fellow inmates – I was one the very few who didn't loudly proclaim my innocence at every turn – a few of them, though, a few of them I think were telling the truth. And how awful would that be? To be imprisoned for a crime that one didn't commit, and everyone laughing at you for claiming you didn't do it. It was bad enough to be there when I was actually guilty.

Agent Black and Stone unnecessarily helped me up and we followed the other two agents in. I expressed surprise and indignation at the fact that my front door wasn't locked. It was a wasted effort, no one cared except me.

We all trooped into the kitchen and stared at the blood stained floor.

Stone asked, "When can you release the house? My client needs a place to stay."

"A few days, I think," said Black.

Agent Rastovich asked, "How come there isn't anyone at the guard house? According to the background material, there's supposed to be a security company watching over the place."

"I don't know," I replied, "Bill Eggers mentioned that to me too."

"Who's Bill Eggers?" asked Agent Black.

"My lawyer."

"I thought this was your lawyer," said Agent Black, pointing at Stone.

"Yeah, yeah, Bill Eggers is also one of my lawyers." I rummaged through my coat pockets and found the envelope that Bill had given me.

Barrington said, "Mr. Eggars is a senior partner at Woodman and Weld and he is Ms Lehane's personal attorney, I am of counsel to W&W and take care of any criminal aspects."

Apparently the BCI agents understood that. I opened the envelope from from Eggars and read it. "Hmm, here's the info on the Security Company. I suppose I should call them."

I called the company but they were cautious with me, since they didn't know me and the new ownership paperwork hadn't caught up to them, but they finally agreed that whether or not I was who I said I was, there should be someone on duty at the gate and they would send someone to find out why the guard was missing 'forthwith'. Stone and I spent the next twenty minutes watching the Agents investigate the crime scene. Then we heard sirens.

Black got on her phone and walked away for a private conversation. I didn't advertise that I could still hear her. But what I heard was disquieting, to say the least. She turned around and said, "They discovered the guard, he's dead, stuffed under the desk at the shack. The local police are there now. Rastovich, you're with me, Collins, secure this scene – Mr. Barrington and Ms. Lehane, follow us."

It took us all of five minutes to sort out our vehicles and drive up to the gate, which was surrounded by cop cars and an ambulance and two private security cars. The BCI agents immediately took charge, saying this was tied with their investigation. And Patrolman Randy was there, oh joy.

While the various types of cops did their cop-thing in the shack, I mused out loud, "Officer Reardon. You must have been at the house this morning before me. Why?"

"Huh?" he answered.

"Why were you at the house this morning?"

Agent Rastovich heard me and stepped over curiously. Stone was doing his Labrador act again, and he didn't shut me up. Apparently I could ask questions as long as I didn't answer any.

"Uh, I came in after you did."

"No, well you may have followed me into the house, but you had to have driven your car there first, otherwise, I would have heard you. And I didn't. Plus you were parked around the side in front of the garage, I remember seeing the back end of your car although I didn't see enough of it to notice it was a cop car."

Stone said, "She's got you there, she could hear cars driving up to the gate here before I did. She surely wouldn't have missed your car crunching on the gravel."

The Police Chief started looking grim and the other two cops were staring at Randy.

Stone asked, "Have you fired your weapon today?"

"No, no, of course not," he said, a little too quickly.

"So you don't mind if the BCI Agents check that out with a GSR test?"

"Fine, oh wait, you know, I was at the range yesterday," he added unconvincingly.

One of the other cops said, "No you weren't. I was range safety officer yesterday, and you weren't there."

A few more minutes of back and forth resulted in Agent Black saying, "Your gun please. I need you to sit in back of my car, we'll take you back to your station where my technicians can test your hands."

He handed his gun to her angrily, glaring tensely at everybody. Black, taking the gun and frowning at the weight of it, popped the clip. Uh oh.

"Do you usually carry your weapon unloaded, Officer? Are you not allowed to have any bullets, or did you just forget to reload?"

The Chief was doing a slow burn. Randy stumbled and gulped and stuttered, "No, no, I never forget!"

I glanced at Stone with a questioning expression. He shook his head at me, giving me a faint scowl. The urge to confess my disarming of the cop was almost overwhelming, but I was paying Stone Barrington for legal advice, it would be stupid not to take that advice. So I said nothing. I tried to look cool, calm, and collected. I just started to think about the vampires and demons I had faced, and came to the conclusion that these people couldn't hurt me, no matter what they did. The grouchy little voice in my head said they could shoot me, but surely not with my lawyer at my side, I replied to myself.

Officer Randy aimed a dirty look at me. He stuttered, he sweated, he started and stopped. Finally, he said, "I was about to arrest that bitch when she disarmed me and took my bullets."

Well, talk about an over-reaction – they all started talking at once, mostly at me, with Stone shouting, "Ms Lehane pleads the fifth!" over everyone's head – fuck 'em all, I thought. So I leaned against my bike, crossed my arms, shut my mouth and stared at the ocean out across the hills.

So, it wasn't exactly a surprise when they decided to arrest me again, and this time they remembered to search me and besides confiscating most of my weapons (they missed the garrote and were utterly befuddled by my stakes) they had the motherfucking balls to tow my pride and joy.

Stone whispered in my ear, "Keep fucking quiet! Don't say anything at all! Shut the fuck up! I don't care what they tell you, they'll be lying, say nothing without me! Even when I'm there, say nothing without my explicit go-ahead. I will get you out, if you don't say anything! You don't know what other people, witnesses, have told them, you don't know what they know, you don't know what they think of their own officer, you don't know what the BCI knows. Until we find out, say nothing! They already know your name, so be silent about everything."

Okay, okay! Stop whispering in my ear, I get the message – fuck me raw, I'll scream silently.

At least they put Deputy Randy on suspension, taking his badge and gun.

TBC

A/N:

Here's a link to a most amazing lecture by a Law Professor about why you should never ever answer a police officer's questions, complete with examples of how you can get into trouble whether you are guilty or innocent, smart or foolish, truthful or not, or any combination of those. http:/ www. youtube .com /watch?v =6wXkI4t7nuc

For the link to work, you have to remove the spaces.