Intentional End
Chapter 39
Sunday Mid-morning
Bobby stood looking into his living room at Sledge snoring softly, stretched out on his sofa and Eames curled in his chair. Bastards, he thought.
The smell of fresh coffee woke Sledge. "Hey, how you doing?" he asked quietly, rubbing his face.
"I wish I was dead."
"Yeah, well, sorry about that." He glanced over at Alex then reached behind him for the crocheted throw over the sofa back and carried it to her sleeping form, covering her gently.
Bobby watched this act of love and hated Sledge and Eames even more. "You two can leave any time."
"I think we're going to hang out for a while, if you don't mind."
"Yes I do mind!" Bobby shouted. "Get the fuck out! You've done enough for me."
Eames started and then sat up, groaning, all kinks and pains. "What's going on?" she asked.
"Your partner here is one cranky boy."
"Fuck the both of you," Bobby growled, sitting at the table with a cup of coffee.
Eames looked at Sledge and then slipped away to the bathroom.
Sledge poured two cups of coffee and sat. "We need to talk about what's going to happen, Bobby."
"What's going to happen is you two are getting the hell out of here and leave me alone."
"I don't think so. Seriously, Goren, I think you should voluntarily admit yourself for observation." Sledge watched the man go from anger to fear and then back to anger.
Bobby shot to his feet, "Get the fuck out of here! Now! Eames, get in here!"
"Goren, sit down, we're not leaving. If you don't admit yourself, Alex will do it for you."
"I'll do what?" she asked returning to the kitchen. "What's wrong?" She didn't like the look in Bobby's eyes, or the way he was pacing.
Sledge sighed dramatically and said, "Well, your partner here doesn't think he should admit himself for observation and he wants us to leave."
Eames sat slowly; she wasn't sure Bobby going in for observation was the wisest route. It would go on his record and cast a net of doubt over everything Bobby would ever do from this day forward, basically ending his career.
Both men looked at her and Bobby saw she wouldn't do what Sledge claimed. He sat and rubbed his forehead.
"I told him you would admit him if he didn't go voluntarily." Sledge saw her uncertainty and believed she would never do it. "Right, Hon?"
Eames didn't know what to say.
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"Robinson? Peterson."
"Yeah?"
"Tell me you picked up Wycoff's computer and organiser from the police." The silence told the boss everything. Fucking idiots! "For Christ's sake! Go and get it! Then bring it in. Jesus, those cops could have searched the whole goddamn thing. Why wasn't it picked up?"
Robinson had hated Wycoff in life and now the bastard was still making his life miserable. He did not want to tell his boss that he was fishing off a boat in the middle of Keuka Lake and was at least five hours from the city, but he had no choice. "I'm not at home."
"I don't care where the fuck you are! Go get his equipment and bring it in!"
"Boss, I'm six hours outside the city."
Peterson's left eye hadn't twitched in years, until now. He slammed three fingers onto it and then slammed shut his cell. He sat for a minute then grabbed his keys.
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Finally, Eames began, "Bobby, you need to talk with someone. You've got the time, Deakins said to take as much as you need. Let's call Dr. Stephens." She rethought that and said, "Wait, no, she'll have to report that she's seeing you."
Sledge turned to her, ignoring Bobby, and said, "Alex, the department needs to know about this. He's a danger to himself; he's a whack job on a good day."
"Hey! I can hear you! Jesus Christ!" Bobby took his coffee and went to his chair in the living room.
Sledge and Eames watched him disappear into himself; both realising how insensitive they just were. Sledge stood and took his cup to the sofa, "Look man, I'm sorry. What are you going to do?"
Alex followed and sat beside Edward. "Bobby, I, I don't pretend to know what you are going through. I just don't want you to hurt yourself – physically or professionally. But, you need help; you need someone to see you through this. Please, Bobby, let someone help you."
He could look at neither of them knowing that he needed to appease them so they would leave. His mind and heart were empty and he wanted to stay that way. He knew he wasn't going to do anything stupid; he also knew he was done drinking – for the time being.
"I'm fine. You saved me. I'll be good. Now get out." Bobby stood and was feeling antsy; he had to get to Evanston.
"You are not fine and you won't be good. Come on, Goren, get real, you had a gun to your head eighteen hours ago."
Bobby's headache had started to go away, but it began creeping back behind his eyes. "Look, I know what I almost did was stupid, I was at my lowest. But now, I slept well, I'm going to eat something and I-will-be-fine. Now leave, please," he looked at them imploringly and saw they were going nowhere.
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"I'm going to go blind reading this crap," Logan said, sitting back, wiping his eyes.
"Ok, take a break and look at this," his partner said, rising with a notebook. "Here, see this?" She laid the notebook in front of him, "I have a theory. Look at the names associated with 'CSP,' 'Robinson, Drumiester, Peterson." Falacci looked up at him expectantly.
He returned the look and then raised his eyebrows questioningly, "So…?"
"Three syllables, each name has three syllables, don't you see?"
Logan drew a deep breath and then said, "Falacci, I swear, you did teach middle school, didn't you? So what?"
"It's a pattern! It has to mean something," she could not understand why he could not see the significance of that.
"You know what, let's see if Goren is up to some company. He'll crack this in no time. It will do him good to have people around. We'll take Chinese. Let me call Eames to see what she thinks. We need to get out of here anyway." Mike Logan was excited, he wanted to make this information work for them and Bobby was magic with this kind of thing.
"Mike, I don't think he's going to –," Falacci began, but her partner already had his cell to his ear and had put up a hand.
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Peterson steamed as he drove to the lower west side, heading for One Police Plaza. He hadn't bothered to change, still in his khakis and golf shirt; another day shot to hell because of this stupid case.
He would claim jurisdiction over the evidence as it was CSP. Wycoff had known that and should have returned everything when he 'resigned.' Of course, Peterson realised that he should have confiscated the property before he put in the removal order. Not one thing has gone right on this leg of the expedition. Not one thing.
He pulled into the lower deck, flashed his FBI credential to the attendant and the gate rose.
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"We won't stay, I just want him to look at these codes and then we'll leave. It won't take him ten minutes to figure it out." Logan listened to Goren's partner whisper as to why he and Falacci should not go to Bobby's apartment – under any circumstances.
"Eames, are you at his place?" he asked and then listened and his antennae quivered, "Why?" something is wrong, he figured.
"Alex, is he all right? Did something happen?" he couldn't keep the fear out of his voice. Logan knew it was serious when he heard Eames sniff. "Christ, what did he do? Is he ok?" he listened and waited, "Alex?"
"Logan, Sledge."
"Edward?! What happened? Why are you there and not in Washington? Man, what happened? Is Goren all right?"
"Look, do not come over here, things aren't good right now. Promise you'll stay away, ok?"
Logan tensed up, and then he knew – that son of a bitch tried to kill himself. Jesus. "Just tell me, is he ok?"
"Yeah; look, I need to hang up. Stay away and keep your mouth shut, ok?"
"Yeah, yeah. Hey, let me know if I can go anything, you hear?"
"Yeah," and Sledge hung up.
Falacci stood watching and listening to Logan's side of the conversation. "Did he hurt himself?" she asked softly.
Logan could not believe how perceptive this woman was. "Uh, it's not a good time to visit. Tell you what, let's call it a day."
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"Here, eat this," Eames said, setting down a plate, as Bobby returned from the bathroom. She kept her head low and couldn't help but sniff. Sledge stood in the living room looking at Goren's books.
Bobby felt the change in the room and looked from his partner to Sledge, "What?"
Sledge turned and said, "Eat something. Hon, I'll have a plate, too, if you're serving."
Still he stood and looked at the others, "What happened while I was in the bathroom?"
"Nothing, Christ, sit down and eat, will you?" Sledge barked.
Bobby sat and then asked, "Who called? Did Deakins call?"
Eames set down a plate for Sledge and then sat beside him, neither would look at Bobby.
He stared at the two and figured – so what, then he forked a load of shell salad to his mouth and chewed, suddenly ravenous. He would be good, be normal and then they would leave and he would be on a flight to Chicago. "This is good," he said around a bite of sloppy-joe. Sledge and he ate silently while Eames go herself a small plate of coleslaw.
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Peterson rounded from the elevator as Logan and Falacci closed up before closing on a short Sunday. He approached the pair with his identification already out and looked around at the nearly empty squad room, "You don't work on a Sunday around here?"
Logan stopped and peered at the man's ID, "Can I help you, uh, Agent, Peterson?"
"Yeah, where's your captain?"
"He's off this weekend."
"Call him. Get him in here."
A snort accompanied his scoff, "I don't think so."
Peterson ignored him with a sneer and turned to Falacci, "Ok, you, call your captain."
"Hello, I'm Detective Nola Falacci," she said sweetly, extending her hand whilst tilting her hip and leaning forward just enough.
Peterson took her in and replied with his hand out, "I'm Field Supervisor Peterson, FBI. I understand you have property that belongs to us – Agent Wycoff's belongings; specifically a briefcase and contents and an electronic organiser. I'm here to collect those items. Where are they?"
"'Field Supervisor,' 'FBI,' oh my," Falacci smiled and put on her most demure face, "I'm surprised such an important person as yourself came to retrieve that evidence."
"Look, I'm here to take possession, go get the briefcase and organiser." Peterson was not falling for this lady's sweet talk, although she did look fine. Logan watched his partner try to charm this hard-ass, and was impressed.
"Can I get you a cup of coffee, Field Supervisor Peterson?"
"Just the items, thank you."
"Well, here, have a seat," and she pulled over the chair from the next desk, "there, sure I can't get you something? A soda, we have bottled water?" and Falacci sat.
Peterson sat; she's good, he thought and shook his head.
"See, Field Supervisor Peterson, I don't think my partner and I have the authority to release those items. I am certain a mound of paperwork is involved," she looked at her partner and continued, "Logan, don't you think some kind of paperwork is involved?"
Logan smiled with a silent nod and kept closing up his desk.
"See, I was sure of it. I'm new here, tomorrow starts my second week, and I really don't know my way around yet," Falacci smiled shyly at the agent.
"How about your partner here?" Peterson turned to look at Logan, "You know about the paperwork?"
Logan stopped and leaned on the back of his desk chair, "I got to tell you, Falacci here is my third partner in three years, all women mind you, and each one of them took care of paperwork. Falacci here is right, there's got to be form after form and, as you can see, this place is light on a Sunday." Logan raised his eyebrows in an innocent, 'sorry-I-don't-know-nothing' attitude.
Peterson sighed, he was afraid of this. He figured it was foolish to try and retrieve Wycoff's effects on a Sunday, but he had a feeling he had to take possession before these yokels went snooping, if they hadn't already. "So, what are you saying? I need to come back here tomorrow to get those two items, is that it?"
"I am so sorry you made the trip," Falacci said with mock sincerity as she crossed her legs and leaned her elbow on her knee, showing off the soft places just below her neck. "Tell you what, why don't we get the transfer paperwork started tomorrow and my partner and I will save you a trip – we'll bring the stuff to you." She flashed a great smile and swiped her tongue over her lips, her eyes never leaving his.
Peterson knew exactly what this chick was up to. If this is the way they do things over here, then how smart can they be? His fear of these bumpkins sorting through Wycoff's files began to fade.
"Look, I want those two items by noon, understand? You know we're going to check to see if you have tampered with federal property."
"Tamper? Oh, my!" Falacci leaned back and looked at her partner with a slight chuckle, "I think we know better than that, Field Supervisor. Tamper? In deed!"
Peterson stood, as did Falacci, "Tomorrow, before noon." And he walked back to the elevators.
Logan and Falacci watched him go and then turned to each other. "Do we have to worry about this?" Falacci asked.
"What, him?"
"No, the fact that the FBI is taking possession of equipment that we have scoured."
Logan thought a minute and then said, "Probably."
They finished closing up and headed out.
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"Look," Bobby swallowed and wiped his mouth, "after we're done eating, how about you two take off? I'm, I'm going to be fine, ok?"
Sledge shook his head as he chewed and Eames set down her fork, "Bobby. . ."
Bobby set down his sandwich and said softly, "I, I want to go to Evanston, tonight. I want to check out her apartment; see what I can find out. I can do this alone; I don't need anyone's help to check it out."
Eames couldn't look at him. Sledge put down his fork, "Goren, this is not a good idea. You need to stay here and get help."
It took all he had to not slam his hands onto the tabletop and scream. He took a deep breath and said softy, evenly, normally, "I will get help when I get back. I swear. I'll call Dr. Stephens. It's, it's ok. I know I need help. But I need to investigate her murder. She was murdered, it wasn't an accident." The three looked at each other. "Please, understand, I need to do this."
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Sunday, late afternoon
Bobby paced as Sledge and Eames said goodbye, "Come on, say goodbye so we can go, ok?" The sight of them canoodling made him sick to his stomach.
"Call me when you get there," Eames said to Sledge who nodded, kissed her again and then stepped back.
"I need to stop at an ATM, ok?" he said to Bobby who stood with his hand on the doorknob, keys in hand.
"Yeah, sure, let's go."
With that, Bobby and Sledge headed out to Bobby's car and then to the airport. For the previous three hours, the trio had talked, argued, threatened and finally compromised that Sledge would accompany Bobby to Evanston. Neither Eames nor her lover wanted to leave Bobby alone for the immediate time being. Sledge showered and borrowed fresh clothes, and then called Quantico claiming a family emergency.
Eames stood alone in Bobby's apartment, fighting an overpowering temptation to snoop. She knew her way around his kitchen but it was Bobby's bedroom that intrigued her. She headed down the hall and stopped at the bedroom door.
Don't, she told herself, this isn't right; he trusts you, you would be furious if someone went through your things. Yeah but, when will I ever get the chance to know him like this? Back and forth Eames argued with herself; finally, she stepped inside.
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"You can get cash at the airport," Bobby told Sledge as they headed for JFK.
"Yeah, but the service fee is higher at the airport. Come on, man, there's one two blocks from here. You pull up and I won't be two minutes."
"What, you're too cheap to pay a dollar more at the airport? No, we're going straight to JFK; I want to get the next flight."
Sledge shook his head and sulked. The pair talked as if nothing had happened – just two guys driving along.
Two hours later, they were in the air on the way to Evanston.
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