Intentional End

Chapter 36

Mid- Morning Saturday

October 20

Angie looked up as her husband entered the kitchen heading for the coffee pot, "Hi, did you sleep?" She rose and crossed to him.

Jimmy Deakins poured himself a cup of coffee, stirred in a bit of sugar, turned to his wife, "Ange, I need to tell you what I did."

She looked up at him and put a hand on his upper arm, "What?"

He led her to the table and they sat. "I switched evidence."

"You what!" she could not believe she heard him correctly. Her husband of twenty-seven years was the consummate police officer. He would never, could never, do what he claimed.

"I had to. I did it to save Bobby from untold embarrassment."

"Bobby? What kind of embarrassment? Jimmy, tampering with evidence. . ."

"I know, I know. But, this is an open and shut case and I'm sure nothing will come of it. The evidence will never be used." He looked at his wife to see if she still loved him. "I just wanted, I needed to tell you."

Angie Deakins shared her husband's feelings toward Bobby and Gleason. Tending to Bobby following Gleason's death, going with him to claim her body, had taken an enormous toll on her husband; now this. She wanted to know what Bobby had done that her husband felt he had to protect the detective by jeopardising his career and pension, by compromising his ethics; but she knew not to ask.

"I'm going to see what difference it would make if I were to retire early." This surprised her. Jimmy loved his job; he was proud to be a police officer and honoured to be the MCS Captain.

"This job is costing me too much. I'm exhausted and cannot give this much anymore. It's not worth it." He looked at her, hoping, knowing she would understand.

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"Edward, he still doesn't answer."

"Hon, he's passed out. We're almost there," Edward replied as he drove to Bobby's apartment. Goren was drunk the last time Sledge had been to his place. God, it seemed years ago that Goren had called Eames from Nixon's when he was too drunk to drive. Sledge had been in Eames' bed that night, answered the phone and gone to get Goren. He had sobered up his colleague and then listened as Goren poured out his heart. Sledge sighed as he recalled how Goren loved that woman. He reached over and took Eames' hand, giving it a squeeze, beginning to think he knew how Goren had felt.

They rode silently for a bit and then Eames said, "We may have to sober him up, you know."

"I've done that before."

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With his head leaning against his pillow, he set the heavy gun on his bare belly and pulled up one of Gleason's pillows. He covered his face with it and breathed deeply, drinking in her scent, then letting loose with a heart-wrenching wail into it.

Bobby Goren was at his lowest; he could not live without her. He screamed into the pillow as he had earlier, rolling onto his side, his head splitting. Exhausted, eventually he settled, unable to see through his swollen, red eyes; unable to draw a deep breath with his constricted chest and congested nose.

Finally, Bobby hiked himself up against his pillow once more and held on as the room began to move again. After it slowed to a stop, he reached for the bottle, took a long swig and choked on it, spitting scotch over his chest and belly. He couldn't stop sobbing but took another swig and went to set the bottle on the night table, missed, caught it and set it down hard.

Then he remembered the clip under his right thigh, shifted his leg, found it and jammed it into the Glock's base and released the safety; then, he pulled back the slide.

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"Where have you been?" Falacci asked her partner as he finally showed at eleven-twenty.

Ignoring her, he sat scowling, rubbing his eyes. Last night had been hell for Mike Logan. He'd stopped at Nixon's and had more than a few. Nicky called him a cab and now his car was still at the bar. When he got home, the key would not open his apartment; he found out why when Sam Mrozak opened the door and ushered the detective down the hall to his own place.

Falacci looked at him, shook her head and said, "The kid downstairs got inside Wycoff's computer. Maybe you can take a stroll through the files. Look for that surveillance video first, though. Then, print off his calendar and any contact list you find in there."

Sledge half listened and tried not to roll his eyes.

"I found some interesting codes in the PDA contact list. Here, take a look at this." She stood and walked around to his desk.

"Wait, wait. Jesus, let me get some coffee, will you? I feel like shit."

Ten minutes later, Falacci showed Logan the list of initials and code. "What do you make of this?" she asked.

Logan studied it and then said, "I wish Goren was here, he loves this kind of thing. I don't know what it is. What are those, initials for names of people? Christ, this can be anything – a code for his favourite porn, hookers." Logan pulled out his chair and sat.

"Well, look around his computer. After you search for the video and print off the calendar and contacts, look for anything else. Make a list of where you looked; identify the folder and file names and include an abstract of what you find in each file and then an abstract of the folder. Search a complete folder before going to another."

Logan stared up at his new partner as though she had two heads. "What are you, the teacher? Give me a break, this isn't middle school." He reached for the lap top and cord but Falacci stopped him.

"Listen, Logan, we're going to do this by the book, understand? In case you have forgotten, we have three asses to cover – yours, mine and Deakins', not to mention Goren. I'm not going to get caught or hung out for shoddy paperwork. Now, do it my way or go home."

It was a crude reminder of what he had tried to drown last night, but she was right – they had to be careful not to draw attention to any aspect of this investigation. "Ok, you're right: slow and thorough; got it."

The pair settled into their work.

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Her anxiety climbed as they drove to Bobby's apartment. "Edward, something is wrong. He should have answered by now."

"Hon, I'm telling you, he is passed out drunk."

"No, he's not, he's done something to himself."

Sledge glanced at her and shook his head. "You feel responsible for him because you are his partner. Alex, he's fine. Goren is not the kind of person to hurt himself. Look, two more blocks and we're there."

She was crawling out of her skin knowing he had done something. Yes, Bobby was too smart to do anything stupid; but he hadn't been Bobby since Gleason had been taken by the government how many weeks ago. His anger and fear over her had been compounded by his mother's recent death. He didn't seem any better after Gleason had returned, in fact, everything seemed that much worse. Now Gleason was dead and Eames knew he was at the edge.

Drinking was her partner's response to angst, running from it straight down a bottle. Alex knew he drank only when he felt that his control over his life had been stripped away. He'd gotten drunk the fist time Gleason left him, when his mother died, when Gleason was abducted, and now that she was dead. And, he felt no one would help him prove she had been murdered.

"Drop me off here while you find a spot," she told Sledge as they drove up to Bobby's building.

"Hon, I'm going to park and go up with you."

"Goddamn it, Edward! Stop and let me out!" He immediately pulled to the curb; Eames jumped out and trotted back up the street.

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One more drink and he would pass out – he didn't want to do that, he wanted to do this. Bobby hefted the loaded Glock from his belly to just below his neck, resting it on his upper chest, the barrel pointed at the lamp on the night stand. God this thing is heavy, he thought.

The room would not stand still and he tilted to the left, leaning on Gleason's pillow. Sit up, he told himself, sit up straight and do this right. He hefted himself up and continued to the right, nearly falling off the bed. Shit-faced drunk, he slurred to himself, just like your goddamn drunken father. What a gem he was, passed his legacy to his boys – Frank got the gambling and I got the drinking. Thank you very much, my Pa Pa.

Bobby's mind wandered to what he and Gleason would have passed on to their children. Apparently, according to his late, crazy mother, their son got Gleason's eyes and a mix of their hair. He would be tall, like his mother and me, Bobby thought. And, and he would be smart like us, too. But would our kids get Mom's schizophrenia? It's a wonder neither Frank nor I have it. Thank you very much, my Ma Ma.

Bobby' head fell forward and he began to cry again, God how he had wanted that baby. Gleason finally admitted, after the miscarriage, that she had known she was pregnant. She wanted to be a mother, Bobby thought, she did, that's why she stopped taking her birth control pills and had gotten pregnant again. Another baby. I bet it was a girl, a pretty little girl. I bet. Christian would have been a good big brother to her, not like Frank was to me.

Do this, you asshole, do it. Everything good in your life is gone. Everything. Bobby raised his head and put the barrel under his chin.

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"Shit," Logan said softly.

Falacci looked up and asked, "What? You found a copy of the video?"

"Yeah."

Her mind ran, did that kid see it? "Mike, the kid in tech might have seen it after he got inside last night."

Logan looked at his partner darkly, "Will he talk?"

"I don't think he knows who Goren is."

"Yeah, but did this putz make a copy for himself?" Logan was beginning to sweat.

"Let me go find out. I'll be right back."

"I'm going with you. I want to scare the shit out of this kid." Logan stood, and seemed armed for bear.

"Wait, hold on. This kid likes me; I can get what we need to know without terrorising him. Besides, we don't even know if he saw it."

Logan considered this then said, "Fine you talk and I'll just be there."

The pair headed for the elevators.

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Lily fussed in her mother's arms as her brother asked, "What is Daddy doing?" The little boy was afraid as he held onto his mother's skirt, knowing something wasn't right.

The chubby, red-haired baby began to whimper and then cry. "Shush, My Girl, shush." Gleason patted their daughter's back to no avail, the child began to wail and thrash as though she, too, knew something bad was happening.

"Mommy? What is Daddy going to do?" Escalating fear was evident in his voice. "Mommy?"

"Tian," and she didn't know what else to say. Gleason stood with their children, watching a man she did not know. Don't do this, Bobby, don't do this. Please. It's not your time, Love. Stop, don't do this. She pleaded with him in her mind, heart and soul.

When his mother didn't continue, Christian looked up, saw her crying and his fear broke loose. "Mommy! Why are you crying?" the child looked back at his father sitting in his underwear on the bed with a gun pointing under his chin.

Gleason knelt down and pulled the child toward her, clutching their son and daughter to her chest. "Don't look, Tian, don't look at Daddy." The three cried together. Bobby, don't. Please, we'll never be together if you do this. Don't, don't. Please don't.

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Eames ran up the steps and down the hall and slid to a stop in front of Bobby's door, jamming the key into the lock and pushed the door. It didn't budge. Fuck! she shouted in her mind, he's set the flip bar.

"Bobby!" she shouted, pounding on the door. "Bobby, open the door!" Nothing. "Bobby, goddamn it, open this door!"

Ted Oelwein opened his door and crossed to Eames, "Detective, what's wrong?"

"I think he's done something. He's set the flip bar. Help me get in." Eames backed across the hall, preparing to kick it open.

"Wait, you'll break your leg," he said, putting a hand to her arm.

"Is he ok?" Sledge asked as he stepped into the hallway from the stairs.

"He's set the flip bar," Eames answered.

"Let's do this," Ted said to the other man and the pair backed across the hall. "On three, ready?"

"Yeah."

"Ok, one, two. . ."

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"Kyle? You back there?" Falacci called.

"Hey, Detective Falacci! Oh, hi," the young man said, coming from the back.

"Kyle, this is my partner, Detective Logan. This young man, Kyle, is a geek wizard," Falacci said, smiling at the young man. The men extended hands and shook briefly, Logan squeezing a wee bit harder than needed.

"What can I do for you?"

"I want to know –," Logan started.

Falacci cut him off with, "We were wondering if you found any video on the computer last night when you went snooping."

The young man's demeanour changed, "What makes you think I went snooping?"

"Because anyone would, given the chance," Logan answered.

"My partner is right. Come on, I would take a peek if I got inside a government computer. Wouldn't you, Mike?" Falacci was as disarming as Logan was menacing.

"Well, yeah, I looked around a bit."

"So, did you find any video?" Logan asked. The kid blushed, shoved his hands into his pockets and looked down. "You found something, something embarrassing, right?"

"Yeah, some homemade porn."

The detectives looked at each other and each took a step back.

"Porn? Well, was it any good?" Falacci asked conspiratorially.

Kyle's eyes shot up at her, "Yeah, it was actually. This guy was going down on this woman like I've never seen and –," he started, leaning against the counter, thinking these two shared his interest.

Logan slammed his hand down on the counter and the kid jumped back. "Listen you sick bastard, did you copy it?"

The detective's reaction startled Kyle; he figured there was something special about that footage and was sorry he'd copied it. This is the end of my career in police work, he told himself.

"Son of a bitch, he copied it," Logan said to Falacci, wiping his mouth and walking away.

"Kyle, did you make a copy?" she asked softly and the kid nodded. "Ok, I can understand why – good stuff like that. I'm afraid, though, we need to have the DVD you burned. See, it's evidence and we need to keep it secure. You understand, right?" She was sweet as ever with this jerk.

Kyle Ambrose went hot with panic and his hands went to his face. "Oh, man."

Logan stepped back to the counter, "Do not tell us you don't have it." The boy looked sick when his hands left his face. "Just great! Where is it?"

"Oh, man," was all Kyle could manage.

"Kyle, it's ok, you know where it is. Is it at home? We can drive you home to get it."

"No," he moaned, "it's not at home. I showed it to a buddy last night and he wanted to put it on this website he runs for this guy who does porn. He thought he could get us some money."

Both Falacci and Logan couldn't speak for a moment. Logan was going to come over the counter at this bastard, but Falacci spoke first, "Do you have any idea of what you have done? Kyle, you stole evidence with the intent to distribute. Your ass is grass, kiddo. You are looking at time, heavy time. And you know what inmates do to police inside, don't you?"

"Oh fuck," the kid moaned.

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Bobby wiped his right arm across his eyes. What the fuck is that, he thought, hearing the pounding at the door. He glanced over to the foot of Gleason's side of the bed – it felt like someone was watching him. The gun was getting heavy, so he rested the grip on his chest, still pointing it under his chin, finger resting on the trigger.

He couldn't shake the feeling that someone was standing there looking at him. This is going to make one hell of a mess, he thought. Bobby Goren had seen plenty of gun-to-the-head suicides in his career so he knew exactly what he was going to leave behind. Poor Estella is going to have to wipe up. No, no she won't, he thought, the insurance will pay for a professional crime scene clean-up. Good, Estella has cleaned up enough of my shit.

His nose ran into his mouth and he wiped it with his hand. He kept looking at the foot of the bed. Fuck, he thought, do this.

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