Intentional End

Chapter 33

Noon Friday

October 19

"What a terrible, terrible thing to happen to anyone; but to Detective Goren . . .," Carver said to Deakins; he had just heard about Gleason's death.

"Yeah, he's pretty messed up."

"Carbon monoxide, huh? I guess when it's your time, it's your time."

The men stood quietly and then Carver and Deakins began to go over the list of items and documents that he needed for the next phase of proceedings against the dead pilot's wife. They were both looking at the sheet of paper and didn't see Bobby cross the bull pen.

Eames stood at the printer and saw Bobby make a bee-line across the squad room. She left whatever she was waiting for and headed for him calling, "Bobby! Wait!"

He pushed open the door with such force it slammed into the wall behind it; Deakins and Carver both jumped. "Detective –?" Carver said with surprise. Eames stood in the doorway, a hand on each jamb.

"You lied to me, you son of a bitch! You told me you would help me prove that she was murdered." Bobby's voice and left arm were up with his finger pointing right at Deakins' face. Carver had backed away as Goren nearly ploughed over him getting to Deakins. The captain stood his ground.

"Bobby," Eames said from the door. He ignored her and glared at Deakins, waiting for a response, breathing hard.

Calmly Deakins said to Carver, not taking his eyes off of Bobby, "Would you give us a minute, Ron?"

Ron Carver was happy to oblige and walked to the door. "Alex, you, too," Deakins added. The tiny detective and the assistant district attorney looked back and then left, pulling shut the door.

"Bobby, sit down and let me explain," Deakins reasoned.

"You said you would help me. Why not now? Did they get to you again? My wife was murdered and you said you would help me. Goddamn it; help me, help me prove it. Why won't you? You could have helped me keep her alive! You fucking bastard." He said this deeply, darkly, and then he began to cry.

Deakins let him go on, Bobby needed to vent and Deakins was the one to catch it. He knew his detective's anger was part of the emotional terrain Bobby had to traverse. Deakins took to heart everything Bobby spat at him and felt like shit. He had promised to help Bobby, but he had done so in the wake of relief following his belief that his family was safe. After thinking it through, Deakins realised there was little he could do.

"Bobby, I'm sorry. Please understand." Deakins moved from the front of his desk to behind it and bent to write something on a slip of paper; but didn't stop talking, "I cannot help you; this department cannot help you. I cannot ask Jack Emerson to help you. You have to let this go. Let her go."

Deakins came back around the desk and handed Bobby the slip of paper. They stared at each other, each waiting. Bobby unfolded the slip, read it and his demeanour changed completely. He looked back at his boss with a questioning look.

"Do we understand each other?" Deakins asked. Bobby looked from his boss to the paper and back, then folded the paper and slipped it into his inside breast pocket.

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"Ok, let's see what we have here," Logan said, unzipping the duffle while Falacci clicked open the brief case; they worked in a task room where they could spread out. Item by item, the partners examined and catalogued the contents of both. Thirty minutes later, everything was inspected and logged.

"Let's check out his computer, electronic organiser and the DVD," Falacci suggested.

"I'll do the DVD," Logan said with a deviant leer. His partner shook her head, handed him the case, and started for her desk with the organiser.

Tapes were watched in the glass-walled View Room containing an assortment of high-tech equipment and large, plasma monitors with screens big enough for anyone passing by to watch.

Logan stood and tapped the plastic case against the knuckle of his left thumb, hesitating. Occasionally, a little voice spoke to Logan, steering him one way or another. In the past, he always regretted when he chose to ignore that voice. Right now, that little voice shouted to him as he stood in the task room, Watch it on the computer at your desk, the voice said. Logan decided to listen this time and headed for his desk.

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Eames and Carver stood by her desk talking. "Your partner is convinced his wife was murdered?" he asked her.

She nodded and proceeded to tell Carver the details of the past weeks. Midway through their conversation, her cell rang. She checked it and said, "Excuse me, Mr. Carver, I need to take this."

"Certainly," and he strolled away.

Eames' heart raced, she flipped open her phone and said, "Eames."

"Hon, you called?" She shut her eyes and could not believe how fast her heart pounded. "Hon?"

"Edward, thank, thanks for getting back to me."

"Are you ok?"

"Yes, yes. How are you? How is it going?"

Edward heard more in her voice than chit-chat.

"Alex, what's wrong?"

She needed to calm herself before she spoke, for several reasons, "Gleason is dead."

"What?! Jesus, what happened?"

"Uh, that's why I called you. Bobby needs your help."

"Alex, I'm coming to New York late this evening. Can we meet tomorrow and you tell me everything?"

Again, her eyes shut and she could barely manage, "Yes." Her mind ran and then, without thinking, she said, "What time is your flight? I'll pick you up."

He didn't respond right away, considering everything this might mean, might cause, "That would be nice." He gave her his flight information and then said softly, "Hon, it will be good to see you again."

She didn't know what to say, "I'll, I'll see you tonight." They both clicked off.

Oh God, she thought, what am I doing? The rush of emotion at the sound of his voice shocked her. She was over him, she was; ok, she thought she was. Eames glanced over at Deakins' office and saw him bent over his desk writing. Bobby's back faced her, but saw the fury in his posture.

God, he is big, she thought. Her mind ran back to the evening several weeks ago, right after his mother died, when Gleason was gone. He was drunk and had called her in the middle of the night and she went over. Eames recalled how he looked as he came down the hall wearing flannel sleep pants and nothing else. His body is magnificent, she thought. Stop it! she screamed to herself, he's a grieving widower and your former lover is coming into town, you need the one to help the other. She forced her mind back to her work and then stood to retrieve from the printer what she had been waiting for.

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Falacci started through the contact list on Wycoff's organiser and soon got a 'low battery' message. She shut it off and took the OPP directory, looking for Technical Forensics. She found the listing and headed to the elevators, organiser and computer in hand.

At the same time, Logan loaded the DVD into the drive on his computer, started it up and sat back. That little voice told him to use the ear phones and he did. A few seconds of grainy lead and soon he was listening to the sounds of sex, staring at fairly close-up, high definition footage of two people screwing on a bed. Holy shit, he thought, and lowered the screen a bit, glancing around, like a kid in high school watching porn on a computer in the school library. Jesus, look at that. He watched, transfixed, enjoying this aspect of his job and then the man on the screen finished in a big way and rolled off the woman, onto his back. And Logan sat up.

Holy Mother of God, he thought, is that . . .? Jesus Christ! And he slammed down the lid to his laptop and ripped off the ear phones, looking around to see if anyone saw. That's Goren and his wife! This is surveillance video shot in their bedroom, he said to himself – he could tell by the angle, the camera was up high; homemade love tapes were shot at a lower angle, from a tripod or night stand. Thank God I didn't put this on the big screen; and he thanked that little voice.

Now what, he wondered. He reopened his computer and the screen was dark; he ejected the disk and retuned it to its case then sat wondering what to do. He glanced back to Deakins' office and watched the captain bend to write something, Bobby stood by, still looking pissed. His first impulse was to destroy the disk, but knew he couldn't do that, it was evidence in an ongoing investigation. Man, what to do, he said to himself.

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"You just want me to power this thing up and print the contacts and calendar? That's it?" the tech said; he looked like he was twelve.

"Yes, please, I read paper easier than screen," Falacci answered smiling sweetly.

"Ok, give me about an hour, that ok?"

"An hour? Oh, come on, you young people are multi-taskers, you can pop that little machine into a dock and print off those two files in . . . I'll bet ten minutes. Where did you go to school?" Falacci smiled and pushed out her chest just a little. She was an expert in getting what she wanted from men, having learned early that you just play with their ego or balls.

The young kid looked at her and was suddenly shy, "I went to NYU, graduated third in my class."

"See, I knew you were clever. I'll bet you can print those off in eight minutes. Want me to time you?"

"How about I do it in six?"

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Deakins and Bobby stared at each other for a moment and then the captain said, "Now, go home. Get something to eat; you need to take care of yourself, Bobby." He came around his desk and put a hand on Bobby's bicep, "I'll talk with you this weekend. Go home."

Bobby was confused, and still angry, and suddenly exhausted again. He opened the door, stopped, looked back at his boss and left.

Carver watched the tall man cross from Deakins' office and wanted to extend his sympathies, but figured this wasn't the time. He glanced back at Deakins and saw the man put his face in his hands. The ADA decided to call Jimmy this afternoon, seemed he was having one hell of a day.

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Logan walked to the captain's office with disk in hand, "Uh, you got a minute, Captain?"

What now, Deakins wondered, "Yeah, sure, what?" dropping heavily into his chair.

Logan shut the door behind him and was suddenly embarrassed, actually reddening. Deakins saw Logan struggle and said with some exasperation, "Mike, what? What's that?" he nodded to the DVD in Logan's hand.

"Falacci and I are going through the FBI agent's duffle and brief case. She's going through the computer and organiser. This disk was among his things." He didn't know what to say next.

Deakins waited and then said with an edge, "Well, what's on it?"

"Oh, man. Captain –," Logan couldn't look at the other man.

"Look, Mike, this hasn't been the best week and this is turning out to be another really shitty day. Tell me what's on it. Hell, give it to me and I'll watch it later."

"No! No, believe me Captain, you do not want to watch this."

Now Deakins was intrigued, "Why not?"

"I only watched a few minutes – until I figured out who it was. And then I stopped." Logan stopped and struggled.

"Who's on the disk?"

Logan looked to the floor, "It's Goren making love to his wife, a segment of a surveillance tape," he said, barely above a whisper.

Deakins went white, then red. And then he stood, "Are you sure?" and came around his desk.

Logan nodded and then said, "Wycoff must have burned it from the original."

Deakins recalled Bobby barging into his office hollering that he'd found a bug in their bedroom. Great, Deakins said to himself, just what this guy needs on top of everything else. Well, I can save him from this embarrassment, he told himself. "Destroy it," he said flatly.

"Captain, this is logged evidence."

"Destroy it and replace it with a blank."

"That's, that's evidence tampering." Logan was somewhat shocked that his boss would even suggest such a thing.

"Here, give it to me," Deakins held out his hand and Logan watched as the boss opened the case, removed the disk and snapped it in two, and then again.

Logan didn't know what to think. "What about the log?" he asked.

"Go amend the disk as blank and I'll initial it." All Logan could do was nod. He turned and Deakins asked, "Do you think more copies were made?"

Logan stopped with his hand on the knob, "No, I think this was for his private use. Anderson in the garage said the guy was a slob and had had sex in his car recently. That kind of guy would only make one copy."

Deakins nodded and Logan left.

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Bobby sat inside his vehicle, still parked in the deck, and felt a hundred years old. He couldn't understand why Deakins would not call Jack Emerson. Emerson would send CSU to Gleason's apartment if he knew it was a murder. He reached inside his jacket and removed and unfolded the slip of paper the Captain had given him – a phone number, nothing more. Bobby wanted to call it, but cell phones don't work so well in the underground deck.

He recalled the mental list he had made last evening. He would call this number, then Gleason's apartment super, and then Jack Emerson. Bobby started up his vehicle and started for home; but first, he stopped by the liquor store.

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