Intentional End
Chapter 28
Afternoon Wednesday
October 17
Detectives of Midtown North finished interviewing everyone in Bobby's building at the time of the murder. No one saw or heard anything. Eames met with Detective Andy Morrow, senior investigator on the case, at his office at the Midtown North precinct. "That's a secured building, how did the perp get in?" Eames asked.
"That's what we're trying to figure out. We found no trace in or outside the apartment. No prints other than the old lady's. It looked like a professional kill; whoever did this had training. The old lady never knew what hit her."
Eames was exhausted. She was working the dead pilot's case herself and now assisting with Bobby's dead neighbour. Her head ached from lack of sleep and she had to get something to eat before she fell over.
"So, what are you thinking?"
"The building has no security camera, so there's nothing to watch. Perhaps the perp slipped in after a tenant – you know, caught the door before it shut. Or, he faked his way in, buzzed a tenant with a delivery, the tenant buzzed him in and off he goes."
Eames had considered this, "But, I don't think this old woman was the target. Who kills an old woman for no reason? Nothing was missing, no ransack. It looked like he killed her in the doorway and then didn't step inside the apartment afterward." The two detectives were silent a moment.
"You think he was after someone else and the old lady interrupted?"
Eames went cold. Bobby. They were after Bobby. And Gleason, but she had already left. Eames' mind raced to remember what Bobby had told her about his suspicions regarding the work Gleason had been away doing. He said she had been abducted by the government. The FBI.
Det. Morrow watched her, "What are you thinking?"
"Uh, I need to make a few phone calls. Where can I reach you later?"
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Late Wednesday Afternoon
Deakins drove from JFK back to One Police Plaza and helped Bobby load the suitcase and Gleason's computer bag into his SUV. "Are you going to be ok?" he asked.
Bobby shuffled and looked at the floor. "No, never again," he muttered. "Uh, thanks, Captain . . . for going with me, helping me. Thanks." Bobby glanced at his boss in the way he does.
Deakins looked at the other man, he looked terrible. "Bobby, I am so sorry about Gleason." He handed Bobby a large brown envelope, "You wanted her autopsy report." Bobby took it and turned it over in his hands. He looked up and nodded. "Listen, take as much time as you need. Let me know if you need anything. I'll call you tomorrow."
Bobby just looked down and nodded. He was exhausted, "I want to talk with Rodgers before I leave."
Deakins nodded and the pair walked silently to the elevator. Deakins pushed the call button and then asked, "Do you want me to go with you?"
"No, uh, thanks though. Captain, thanks for everything." Bobby turned and faced his boss, "I couldn't have done this by myself. Thank you." The men looked at each other and nothing else needed to be said. The elevator doors opened and they entered.
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"Detective, I am so sorry," Dr. Rodgers said softly, seeing Bobby enter.
Bobby put up two hands and shook his head. He couldn't look at her and he had to wait a moment before he could speak, "Uh, they're, they're sending her body here. I want you to repeat the autopsy. Check everything, all of her fluids, hair, nails; a complete workup – everything."
"Of course," was all Rodgers could manage; Bobby nodded his thanks and left.
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Deakins took the elevator to the fifteenth floor and asked to see the Chief. He was shown in immediately and relayed the details to his boss.
"So the Evanston PD is certain it was an accident?"
"Yes. Their preliminary findings indicate so. They're continuing to investigate, but it looks like a dead battery in the detector and a broken connector on the heater."
"Something so simple." The chief shook his head and then continued, "Jimmy, do anything you need to do to help him. Anything, understand?"
"Yes."
"Let me know what you find out."
Deakins returned to the elevator and took it down to the eleventh floor.
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Eames was at her desk when Deakins rounded the corner from the elevator, he looked like hell. People stopped and watched, the room fell silent and remained subdued after Deakins entered his office. Eames stood and followed him in, shutting the door behind her.
"How is he?"
Deakins dropped into his chair and sat forward, elbows on the desktop, head in his hands. "She was pregnant."
"Oh dear God," Eames gasped, sitting down hard. "How far?"
"Thirteen weeks."
Her mind flew to her own pregnancy at thirteen weeks. "Did he know?"
"I don't think so by his reaction."
The pair sat quietly, then Deakins sat back and said, "This is going to unhinge him. He'll never be right after this. His mother, his wife, his baby – Jesus Christ."
Eames wiped her nose and asked, "What happens next?"
Deakins shuddered a sigh and relayed the details concerning Gleason's body being shipped to Rodgers. "I bet he'll have Rodgers repeat the autopsy."
Eames nodded. "Is there anything I can do? Anything you want me to do?"
"He needs to be alone for awhile. He's going to get dead drunk; he finished a bottle of scotch last night. We need to keep an eye on him. Make sure he doesn't hurt himself."
"You don't think he'd do that, do you?" Eames asked with some alarm.
"Alex, you know he's not wrapped real tight on a good day. Who knows how his mind works. We just need to make sure he's eating, sleeping and not drinking himself to death."
Eames could not imagine her partner hurting himself. Bobby was too strong and smart to take the coward's way out. He may destroy himself with drinking, smoking and not eating, but he would not end himself suddenly.
They sat quietly for a moment and then Deakins asked, "Do you have a key to his apartment?"
"No."
"Chances are excellent he won't answer the door or the phone. Work out something with his building manager and keep me informed on how he is. What did you find out about his neighbour's murder?"
Eames relayed her conversation with Det. Morrow from Midtown North.
"Do you think Bobby or Gleason were the intended targets?" he asked.
"It could be anyone on that floor, in the building. But – I don't know." Eames wanted to know if Deakins knew about Bobby's theory on Gleason being abducted by the government. "Captain, Bobby told me he thought Gleason was taken by the government to do some work. That's why she was gone all those weeks."
Deakins was surprised that Eames knew, that Bobby told her. "He told you this? What else did he tell you?" Deakins wanted to know if Eames had been warned as he had.
"He didn't say much; just that she had been abducted and he didn't know when she would be returned."
By her demeanour, Deakins figured she had not been contacted and thought it was odd that she hadn't been. "Did he ask you to help him find her? Help him in any way?"
"No, he was drunk and just beginning to sober up. He was pretty much rambling." She hesitated admitting the next bit, but continued, "It was, the, the night before I was late for that interview." Eames actually blushed, even though she had no reason to.
Deakins was exhausted and wanted to speak to Rodgers before he went home. "Ok. Nothing's going to get done today. I'm going home and will be back sometime tomorrow."
Eames stepped aside as the Captain came around his desk.
Deakins returned to the elevator and took it down to the morgue.
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Rodgers lifted the clear facemask and set down the striker saw she was using to remove the cranial cap from a bloated, blue body on the steel table in front of her. She walked over to the captain and said, "How are you doing?"
"Did he stop here?"
"Yeah. Holy Mother of God, that poor man; first his mother, now this."
"Jack Emerson from the Evanston PD will be calling you to arrange delivery of her body."
"Detective Goren asked me to redo the autopsy and run a full screen. She's at the top of the list when she gets here." It was hard not to refer to the body as the woman herself.
"Did he give you a copy of the report from Evanston?"
"No, I wouldn't look at it anyway; not until my work is done." The pair stood, not knowing what else to say. Then, Rodgers asked, "He was barely hanging on when he was in here. Is he going to come back from this?"
"I'm worried what this will do to him. I need to call Dr. Stephens, his psychiatrist. He stopped seeing her soon after he and Gleason married. He's going to need to see someone." Again they stood quietly. "Let me know when she gets here." Deakins turned and headed for the elevators. He walked like an old man.
Rodgers sighed and then flipped the mask back over her face and returned to the swollen corpse.
Deakins returned to the elevator and took it down to the lower parking deck.
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Bobby stopped at a package store and bought two bottles of scotch. Then, he drove home and was lucky to find a spot right in front of his building. Once inside his apartment, he set Gleason's computer bag inside the closet and suitcase on the sofa and threw his coat over the back of his chair in the living room. He removed her pillow and throw, took them to the bedroom, and went back for a bottle of scotch and a glass. He picked up the paper-wrapped book and the brown envelope containing the autopsy report, locked the door, set the bolt, turned off the light and headed down the hall.
He shut the bedroom door setting the book and envelope on the bed and the bottle and glass on the nightstand. Then he stripped and poured himself a drink, downing it in one swig. He pushed aside the book and envelope, pulled her pillow and throw to the top, sat down and unplugged the land line. He refilled his glass, downed it and refilled it, laying back, her pillow and throw beside him.
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Alex spoke into the call box beside the front door of Bobby's building. "Yes, this is Detective Alex Eames of Major Case Squad; I spoke with you regarding the murder here and, and about Bobby Goren's wife. I need to speak with you." The buzzer sounded and she pulled open the door.
Ted and Becky Oelwein were standing in the hall outside their apartment as Eames crested the stairs.
"Can we speak inside, please?" Eames replied.
The trio entered the Oelwein apartment and Ted shut the door. "How is he?"
Eames struggled to remain professional, but the quiver in her voice betrayed her, "Uh, he got back this afternoon and is destroyed. Our captain wants to have access to his apartment to keep an eye on him."
"You mean like give you a key to his apartment?" Ted asked.
"Yes."
"He's got a flip bar; it's like a chain only it's a double bar and is ten times stronger than any chain. Bobby had me install it after Gleason moved in. I'll give you a key, but I don't think you'll get past the bar."
Eames had considered that Bobby would have additional, and the best, security. "Well, chances are excellent we won't even need the key. He's not stupid."
They stood quietly and then Becky asked, "What about services for Gleason?"
Eames sighed and said, "Nothing's been done. The Evanston PD is sending her body to our ME."
Becky went to the key cupboard and removed the last key from the hook at 4B and a lobby door key. She retuned and handed them to Eames. "Is there anything we can do?"
Eames looked down and shook her head; she had no idea what anyone could do. "I don't know. Just be available if he needs you, I guess."
Ted and Becky nodded and Eames nodded in return and said, "Thanks, we'll get these back to you when we're done with it."
"Sure," Ted answered.
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Eames entered the hall and stopped in front of Bobby's apartment. She imagined him in there, lost in his grief, drinking himself blind. She wanted to knock on the door and hold him, comfort him, tell him it will all be ok. But she knew none of that would ever happen. She walked to the end of the hall and continued down the stairs.
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Bobby lay across the bed, staring at the ceiling, his glass resting on his chest. He fully intended to drink himself to death. He knew that wouldn't happen, however; he would drink to a point and then his body would vomit it all out. He hated that about himself.
He sat up and tossed back the rest of the scotch in his glass, grimaced and then refilled it, tossing back that one as well and filled it again.
Slow down, you son-of-a-bitch, he told himself, you're drinking like your old man. That sorry excuse for a father is dead, too. Mom is dead. The baby boy is dead. This baby is dead. But he couldn't make himself think it; he couldn't make himself admit that his wife is dead.
Just Frank now – good ole' big brother Frank. Shit, he was pissed because Dad had no money except to bury him; he was pissed because Mom had no money except to bury her.
Now I have to bury my wife.
Bobby wiped a hand over his face and hitched a few breaths. He knew he was well on his way to getting drunk; that was his intent – drink until he didn't have to think. He figured that tomorrow he would be sufficiently hung over to be preoccupied with his physical misery and would not have the wherewithal to suffer his emotional misery. Sounds like a plan to me, he thought, and tossed down his drink and filled it again.
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