Intentional End
Chapter 32
Mid Morning Friday
October 19
Deakins stepped from his office and called, "Logan, Falacci. My office." Mike Logan and his new partner Nola Falacci walked over.
"The oh-seven called. A government agent was a hit and run yesterday and they're handing it over. You're it. Go find out what you can. Lockworth and Jymosowicz have it over there."
Logan nodded, took a step and then turned back, "Uh, Captain?"
Deakins turned and waited.
"Uh, Goren, it's too bad about his wife. How is he?"
The Captain offered the same generic response he gave everyone, "He's in shock."
"What happened?"
"It appears to be carbon monoxide poisoning." Logan waned to ask if it was an accident of if Goren's wife had suicided, but didn't. The trio stood silently, then Deakins said, "Go, work this agent case." And they separated, Deakins closing his office door.
The two walked silently to the elevators, stopping to get coats along the way; then Falacci said, "This Goren fellow, I haven't met him yet, but I've heard about him. He's some kind of freak genius or something?"
"Yeah, or something. He is different, I'll say that. But the man can solve like none other." They stood at the elevator, waiting. "You know, his mother just died a few weeks ago."
Falacci nodded and said, "Yeah, I heard."
"Goren's wife – she was one beautiful woman, a professor, too. Smart, like him. She kind of steadied him. He seemed kind of, I don't know, less weird or more normal after she came into his life."
The elevator opened and Falacci pressed the button for the underground parking deck. "I wonder what he'll be like now."
Logan snorted a laugh, "Hell, something like this, it would set anyone back a mile and a half. Poor guy."
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"Logan, Falacci from Major Case," Logan said, pointing to himself and his partner. "You have a case you're handing us?"
"Yes, have a seat," Lockworth indicated to the pair. "Agent Phil Wycoff, he's a fed and you do feds, so he's yours."
Logan looked at the woman and fought not to make a smart-ass remark. "Ok. So, what can you tell us?" He threw a barely perceptible sardonic glance at Falacci.
Lockworth caught it and copped an attitude, it didn't take much to set her up, "You want this or not? 'Cause we can take it, the feds are no problem. This looks like a simple hit and run. You interested or not?"
Jymosowicz looked away and reddened a bit, slightly shaking her head.
"Whoa, whoa, cool down. No need for animosity here." Logan tried to appease the detective but she was buying none of it. Of course, his demeanour was less than sincere.
Lockworth was ready to start in on him when Falacci interrupted, "Look, what have you got for us? This is a hit and run? An accident? Why are we even involved?"
Lockworth dragged her eyes from Logan's face and looked at his partner, "We called the feds and they don't want him, said he resigned or something. They surrendered jurisdiction; said the NYPD can handle it."
"Since when does the Federal Government hand one of theirs to the locals? What this guy do, piss off some one big time?" Logan asked and had no idea how close to right he was.
"Here's the file on it – statements from the witnesses, not much there; and statements from the responding officers, again, not much there. The crime scene photos will be sent to your attention electronically," Jymosowicz looked at her watch and continued, "in fact, they should be in your delivery queue right now."
"What about the body and vehicle?" Falacci asked.
"The body is going to your ME, should be on its way now. And both vehicles are being towed to your forensic garage."
"Wait, both vehicles? You found the car that hit him?" Logan was impressed.
"Yeah, it was right around the corner, in the middle of the street with the engine running and a crushed front passenger corner. Seems the driver had a get-away vehicle waiting around the corner. After the hit, he kept going, made the corner on two wheels, stopped, left the car running, and – apparently – jumped into the waiting car and disappeared into traffic."
"What makes you think he had a car waiting? Why not just abandon the vehicle and disappear into the crowd?"
"Because, one, there was no crowd for him to disappear into; two, a witness saw him get into the waiting vehicle; and, three, we assess thoroughly." Lockworth had her ire up again.
Falacci interjected before Logan could slap the touchy detective, "So, this wasn't a random accident?"
"Doesn't look like it, which is another reason you guys were called in."
"Any other evidence with the body or car?"
"Yeah, a duffle bag in the trunk and the guy's computer and briefcase. Looks like he just checked out of the weekly hotel he was parked in front of. We interviewed the woman at the desk; her statement is in there, too. The computer, duffle and briefcase are on their way to evidence at your place."
"Well, this looks pretty clean and narrow," Logan said.
"Maybe yes, maybe no," Falacci responded.
The foursome stood and Jymosowicz handed the thick brown envelope to Logan. "Thanks for taking this off our hands. Let us know if you need anything."
"Sure, we'll give you a call."
"Thanks," Falacci offered. The pair turned and walked to the elevators.
"What a tight-ass that Lock-whatever is. Got something to prove, you think?" Logan half whispered.
"Well, you two were like kids on a playground, taunting each other."
They stood at the elevator and Logan looked at his new partner with mock hurt, hand on his chest, "'Taunting' each other'? Did you hear her? I was nothing but professional and forthright. She taunted me. I remained the consummate professional."
"Yeah, yeah," she answered and they stepped through the opening doors.
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Eames stopped into Deakins' office and said, "I talked with Bobby last night."
He looked up at this, "Yeah? Have a seat, close the door."
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Logan and Falacci stopped in the forensic garage next to the underground parking deck. Michael saw them and walked over. "Mike."
"Mike," Logan replied – it was a stupid game they liked to play. "Hey, I want you to meet my new partner, Nola Falacci. Mike Anderson."
Mike nodded and shook the detective's hand and said to her, "You do realise, don't you, that you are his third partner in three years – all women no less."
She smiled and said, "Some men are just left in the dust."
Logan smirked and shook his head.
"What can I do for you two?"
"The oh-seven sent over two vehicles involved in a hit and run. You get to them yet?" Logan asked.
"Yeah, over here." He led them between cars, continuing, "Let me tell you, the hit car, this blue sedan, here, cleanest car I've ever looked at."
"What do you mean?"
"Nothing – no prints, no fibres, no hair, no trace, nothing. This vehicle was clean prior to the hit, and the perp left nothing behind. Now, who does something like that?"
"The government," Falacci answered.
Both men looked at her and Logan spoke first, "You think the feds took out one of their own in a hit and run?" He tried, but failed, to hide his scepticism.
"Sure. It happens all the time. Look at Vince Foster early in Clinton's first term. Goes up on the hill and shoots himself – a suicide, right? Bullshit, Hillary had him taken out because he couldn't hold up under the pressure of Washington politics and society and she was afraid he'd break and blab about their affair back in Arkansas."
Again, both men stared at her, and again, Logan spoke first, his eyebrows going north, "Ok then. So-o-o, what about the victim's vehicle?"
Mike led the pair to the next car, "Nothing special. The guy was a slob, his prints are over everything and, he left DNA." Mike shuddered dramatically.
Logan looked at him, again with raised eyebrows, "You mean . . . he jacked off in his car? Jesus."
"No, not jacked off necessarily, but he had sex with someone in there."
Falacci rolled her eyes and shook her head.
"Ok, so, we got paint and such to tie the vehicles as a pair?" Logan asked, changing the subject.
"Yep, the paperwork is already started. Actually, this was a fairly easy job. You catch the perp?"
Falacci replied, "No, looks like he left the car for a waiting get-away vehicle. He's long gone. And, if he's a fed, we'll never catch him." She looked at the two men staring at her. "What? Why do you look at me like I have two heads? Good grief. Are we done here?"
Mike and Logan looked at each other and smiled. "Hey, thanks Mike. You always do good work."
"Right back atcha, Mike."
Falacci and Logan headed for Evidence.
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"How was he?" Deakins asked.
"He was asleep when I got there. He ate and seemed ok. Then, after dinner, he got the bottle of scotch and started drinking, hard and fast."
"Jesus Christ," Deakins said softly, sadly. "How did it end?"
"I told him I wasn't going to help him if he kept on drinking."
"What'd he say?"
"He apologised and begged for help proving she was murdered. I took the bottle and poured it in the sink."
"I'm impressed. How'd he take that?"
"He wasn't happy, but we drank coffee and talked." Deakins listened. "He told me he thinks the government killed Gleason because she knew too much about the work she was doing."
"Does he have a plan?"
"He said he wants to go back to her apartment. He thinks her heater was tampered with and the battery in the detector was replaced with a dead one."
"When is he going?"
Eames looked down at this and said softly, "He wants to wait for Gleason's ashes before he goes."
They shared a look and Deakins nodded, nothing else needed to be said about it. "What else did he say?" he asked.
"Bobby wants you to call your friend in the Evanston PD and ask that her apartment be sealed. He wanted to know if your friend could have CSU go over it."
Deakins rubbed his forehead at this, Bobby was asking a lot. Eames anticipated this reaction as she had thought the same thing. "He knows it is asking a lot; he knows there is no probable cause to do so since it was ruled accidental."
"Eames. . ." Jack Emerson had already done so much for Bobby. Deakins couldn't ask his friend for any more, it would be asking too much.
"He said he didn't think you would do it."
"Alex, it's not that I wouldn't, I, I can't." He stood up at this and crossed his arms, "Jack Emerson went out of his way to accommodate us. I cannot ask him to draw manpower and resources for a hunch." He looked at her and his eyes pleaded for understanding.
She nodded and looked at her lap. The pair was quiet a moment. Deakins returned to his desk and sat, "Does he have a Plan B?"
"Yeah, he's going to call the property manager and ask her to leave the apartment like it was and keep the place locked up until he can get up there. He's worried that it's already been cleaned."
Again, they sat quietly and Eames broke it with, "I called Sledge."
Deakins looked surprised. "Oh?"
"He's FBI now, maybe he can help."
"I don't know how much, he's still a newbie; he's only been there a few weeks." Deakins thought a moment and said, "What did he say?"
"I left a message on his cell and haven't heard back yet."
"That's a good angle if he can help. Do you think he will?"
"I'm certain of it."
Once more, they were quiet and then Eames said, "He's, he's not going to have any services, not even an obituary for her. He's taking some of her ashes back to Scotland."
Deakins nodded slightly. "It doesn't surprise me about not having services, but no obit?"
"He's a private guy."
"Did he say when he's going to Scotland?"
"I asked him that and he said not right away."
They sat quietly for a moment, and then Eames stood and said, "He asked that I call him after I spoke with you. What do you want me to tell him?"
Deakins rubbed his hands over his face and said, "Tell him I'm sorry." He looked up at her standing at the door, "Make him understand, Alex."
She turned and left, disappointed in her boss.
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Logan and Falacci rode up to Trace.
"Have you been up here yet?" Logan asked as they exited the elevator.
"Yeah, several years ago," Falacci replied.
"And. . ."
"And, it's none of your business."
"Ouch, sorry," Logan replied, stinging and wondering anew about his new partner. Secrets, huh?
They continued down the hall to the main counter, signed in and Logan asked about the computer, duffle and briefcase found in Wycoff's car.
"They were sent to Evidence. The oh-seven sent them up here by mistake. Sorry," the clerk told them.
Logan shook his head and the pair turned around.
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Noon Friday
Bobby woke slowly. After Eames left the preceding evening, he sat in his chair and thought about her murder – that was how he saw it in his mind – not an accident, but murder. He desperately wanted a drink and hated Eames for pouring out the rest of the scotch; goddamn her, he thought. But, he knew he needed a clear head to puzzle through and prove that the Federal Government had murdered his wife.
In his mind, Bobby treated her murder like any other case. He opened his mind and let his neurons drift over bits he didn't even know he knew. Slowly, he conjured a plan and after two hours of sitting and thinking, he went to bed.
Now, he rolled from his right side onto his back, ran his arm over where she had slept, and sighed when he realised she wasn't there. He lay looking at the ceiling and thought, one more day without her.
He was heading for the bathroom when the phone rang, "Goren."
"It's me."
"Did you talk with Deakins?"
"Yeah, just now."
He knew by her reticence that Deakins wasn't going to help. "He's not going to call Jack Emerson, is he?"
Eames had to wait a few heartbeats before confirming, but she didn't get a chance.
"That son of a bitch," Bobby growled, "he said he would help me." Bobby's rage was red hot. "Ok, thanks."
"Bob-," but he had clicked off. Eames wanted to call him back and explain, but she knew he wouldn't pick up. She looked over at the boss through the glass walls of his office and thought, Bobby's going to come in and get in Deakins' face. A part of her wanted to warn Deakins, but she chose not to.
Bobby threw the phone onto the bed and stormed into the bathroom. After his shower, he dressed in jeans and a long-sleeved tee shirt, pulled on socks and shoes, got his jacket and keys and locked the door behind him. That goddamn, son of a bitch, he thought. Well, fuck him, lying bastard. Bobby's anger increased on his way to OPP.
Logan and Falacci took the elevator to Evidence.
"We need the computer, duffle and briefcase that came down from Trace," Logan said to the evidence officer. The fellow nodded and went to retrieve the items. He returned in a few minutes carrying a large, white plastic bin with 'Evidence' written on the four sides. He plunked it on the countertop and slid over the sign-out sheet and pen, both attached to a clipboard.
Logan nodded and grabbed the bin as Falacci signed. Then they headed back to the elevators and the eleventh floor.
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Bobby's hands clenched and unclenched as he waited for the elevator in the parking deck. Finally, the doors opened and he stepped aside for three people to exit. He entered and pushed the button for the eleventh floor then retreated to the far corner. It seemed to take forever to climb as the car stopped on nearly every floor. He kept his eyes downcast as he did not want to see or speak to anyone.
The doors opened on the eighth floor, people exited and Logan and Falacci entered.
"Hey, Goren," Logan said softly, putting a hand on Bobby's arm.
Bobby tried not to pull away and glanced at Logan in that sidelong way he does and nodded silently.
"Look man –," Logan started.
But Bobby cut him off with a step back and both hands up in front of his chest, palms out. "Don't, not now. Please," he said softly, looking at the floor.
Logan nodded and turned to face the elevator car doors. Falacci glanced up at her partner and did the same.
Finally the car stopped on eleven, the doors opened and the three of them exited, Bobby striding around and ahead of his colleagues.
"I see what you mean by him being a freaky genius or something," Falacci uttered.
"Hey, give the man a break, he just lost his wife for God's sake," Logan answered.
The pair watched Bobby march straight for Deakins' office.
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