Intentional End

Chapter 41

Evanston, IL

Monday, Midmorning

Sledge paid for breakfast and they headed back to 1454 Elmwood Avenue, parking in the lot behind the Evanston police station. "You're going to stay cool, right?"

"Yeah, yeah."

The pair entered the vestibule and crossed to the desk sergeant, "We're back to see Captain Emerson. Goren and Sledge, we were here earlier."

"Sure, let me see if he's available," the officer said and lifted the phone. Sledge glanced at Goren and was about to say something when the officer hung up and said, "You can go on up, second floor, end of the hall."

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MCS

Monday, Midmorning

The three detectives assembled in the task room and were about to begin when Deakins entered and pulled shut the door behind him.

"Captain, glad you're here. We're going to bring Eames up to date on what we found," Logan said.

Deakins nodded and pulled out a chair next to Eames.

Logan and Falacci shared everything they learned from pillaging Wycoff's equipment; everything but the ordeal with Kyle Ambrose and his porn-buddy, that is. They proposed several theories as to what the information meant as well.

"Falacci thinks 'Marlborough' and 'Kitelinger' are case file names," Logan offered.

"What do you think," Deakins asked.

Logan wanted to tell his theory of them being racehorses or working girls and that Wycoff was a bookie or pimp, but he didn't. Logan sensed that the Captain wasn't in the mood for levity. "I think they are case files," he agreed.

"So, what's of use to us? What else did you find?" Deakins seemed to be getting impatient.

"Well," Falacci began, "There are three names associated with a folder called, 'CSP.'"

"Hey," interrupted Logan, "what were the names? That one, wasn't that one the name of that FBI field supervisor who showed up here yesterday?"

"What field supervisor?" Deakins asked.

As Falacci pulled a sheet from the stack in front of her, Logan responded, "Some FBI guy was in yesterday looking to take possession of Wycoff's briefcase, computer and PDA." He looked at his partner, "What was his name?" and he snapped his fingers, trying to recall.

"Peterson," Falacci replied, "Yeah, here he is, 'Peterson, David L."

"What did he want?" Deakins asked.

"He was all bossy and smart about taking possession of Wycoff's equipment."

"What did you tell him?"

"I said that we'd get the transfer paperwork started and notify his office when the stuff was ready to be released."

Deakins rubbed his hand over his forehead and said with sad resignation, "Mike, that stuff is evidence in an open investigation. Did you remind him that the FBI gave up jurisdiction and we took possession? That evidence is going nowhere; call him and let him know."

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Evanston PD

Monday, Midmorning

"We're here to see Captain Emerson; I'm Edward Sledge and this is Detective Robert Goren of the NYPD," Sledge said to the receptionist. The young officer lifted the phone when Bobby saw the Captain walking toward them.

"Detective," Jack Emerson said with his hand out.

"Captain Emerson, thank you for seeing us. This Edward Sledge, a former colleague; Edward, this is Captain Jack Emerson. He, ah, he helped me when, when," Bobby looked to the floor and took a step back, Jack and Edward shook hands and nodded.

An awkward few heartbeats of silence followed, Jack obviously uneasy that Goren and his pal had shown up. "Uh, what can I do for you?"

Sledge spoke up first, "May we talk in your office?"

Emerson's hesitation spoke volumes, "Well," then he glanced at his watch.

"We won't take much of your time." Edward straightened and glared at the other man.

Bobby stood silently, watching the Captain squirm, and his shoulders slumped. He turned toward his friend and was about to speak when Jack Emerson said, "Of course, of course, I'm sorry. This way, please."

The pair followed Emerson to an office and the Captain gestured for them to sit, taking his seat behind his desk, "Now, what can I do for you?"

Still taking the lead, Sledge began, "Gleason Wintermantle was murdered a week ago in your jurisdiction and so far, the Evanston police have done nothing to investigate it. Her apartment is a crime scene and a CSU has yet to be dispatched. When do you think this will happen? Her murder is going cold without a single thing being done."

Jack Emerson's mind processed with lightning speed, he thought this was done and over with. "The medical examiner ruled that death accidental. No crime occurred."

Sledge was wondering how sharp this guy was – he was sharp. "Circumstances raise cause to believe it was something other than accidental. Why haven't you initiated an investigation?

Emerson couldn't believe what he was hearing – he had done what he could for Jimmy Deakins' detective and had heeded the FBI's warning. Who the hell does this guy think he is, he thought, his ire raising. Emerson glanced at Goren and saw a man defeated, exhausted and out of his mind with grief; he asked Sledge, "Forgive me, you're a colleague of Detective Goren's?" he asked, glancing to the grieving widower and then back to Sledge.

Sledge reached inside his coat and withdrew his identification wallet, flashed it and returned it as he explained, "Detective Goren and I were colleagues at the Major Case Squad in New York. I'm with the FBI now," and he sat back to let this sink in.

Confusion reigned in Emerson's mind. This guy is FBI, he wondered; but they told me that they were taking. . . "I see," he said softly. "I'm a little confused here, I was told that the FBI was taking jurisdiction of that case and the Evanston PD was to stand down."

Bobby sat up and was about to say something, but again, Sledge took the lead, "That decision has been reversed."

"When? When was it reversed? I know nothing of this."

Sledge feigned controlled frustration, "Apparently, there's been a communication breakdown. I was under the impression that you had received that information and that a complete investigation was underway."

Emerson looked from one man to the other. "Excuse me; let me go check on this," and he left.

As soon as the door shut, Sledge turned to Bobby and said quietly, "Thanks for staying quiet, let me handle this, ok? I think he's going to buy this."

Bobby set his left elbow on the chair's arm, leaned that way and laid the fingers of his left hand over his lips, nodding silently.

Emerson returned with an assistant and asked, "When would this notification have been sent?"

Without missing a beat, Sledge replied, "The decision was made several days ago; I don't know the particulars, Wednesday, maybe."

The assistant spoke up, "How was it delivered? E-mail, phone call, fax, post?"

"I'm not sure. What does it even matter? A communication break down has stalled this investigation and now you need to put together a team and get started."

Emerson thanked the assistant and returned to his desk, "Why is the FBI interested in this if they returned jurisdiction? Why are you here? What happened to Agent Davis?"

Sledge deserved an award for his performance, he stood and looked at Emerson with mild disappointment and said to Bobby, "Come on, I need to head to Washington with this. This is outrageous."

Bobby looked up at this friend questioningly and then stood. Sledge turned back to the Captain, and said, "Captain Emerson, I'm going to have to recommend that an investigation of your department be done. Apparently, you and your people have an abject disregard for cooperating with the federal government and a lackadaisical attitude toward investigating crime." He turned to Bobby, put a hand on the man's arm and took a step with, "Come on, let's get out of here."

"Wait! Just wait. Please, sit down, Agent Sledge, Detective." Emerson was nineteen months from retirement and did not want anything to interfere with that. "Let's, let's figure this out. Please."

Sledge stopped and seemed to be considering, all the while enjoying this little improv. He looked at Bobby and said, "What do you want to do? Want me to get your wife's murder returned to the FBI and find out who the bastards are that killed her? You know, however, that's going to take time. Plus, I will have to initiate the investigation into this outfit." Bobby looked pathetically confused. "Or, do you want the local PD to investigate? I bet they could get a CSU team over there is afternoon." Sledge turned to Emerson with eyebrows raised in question.

"Absolutely! I can get detectives on this in an hour. And we can do this while you two are here, perhaps you can assist." Emerson was wetting himself trying to make this FBI fellow happy.

Bobby knew what his friend was doing and nodded, saying sadly, truthfully, "Yeah, let's get it done. I want to know what happened to her; find out who did this."

Sledge nodded and Emerson stood up, "Wonderful; let me get this organised. Wait right here; please, sit down, can I get you two anything?"

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Washington, DC

Monday Afternoon

"Robinson? Where are you?"

Special Agent Robinson sighed and then answered, "I'm in the city, heading north from Tribecca." What is now, he wondered.

"Look, turn around and head to One Police Plaza. Get Wycoff's equipment from those idiots in Major Case. I'll fax the paper work before you get there. I am sick and tired of this case – it just will not end."

Robinson didn't answer right away; he was sick and tired of taking orders from Peterson.

"Did you hear me, Robinson?"

"Yeah, yeah, I heard you. What do you want me to do with it after I pick it up?"

"Bring it back to DC. I want to see what they did to it. Knowing Wycoff, he didn't wipe anything when the case ended." The men listened to silence and then Peterson continued, "Fly back to DC tonight."

"Yeah, sure." The pair clicked off. Son of a bitch, Robinson thought and continued north, he wanted to stop for lunch first.

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MCS

Monday Afternoon

Eames sat with Logan and Falacci at Palmetto's Deli, a favourite hangout for cops and lawyers. Logan watched with fascination as Falacci chowed down on a huge combo sub and a mountain of fries. Eames picked at a small salad and Logan's rueben was disappointing with bread too wet and beef too dry.

"This afternoon, how about you start running down those names from the PDA," Falacci said to her partner after a swallow, wipe and sip.

He nodded in reply and looked to Eames; she was being too quiet. "What do you want to do?" he asked her.

"I don't know. Have you gotten everything off the devises in case the FBI comes for it?"

Falacci nodded with a full mouth and held up one finger. Logan spoke up for her, "Yeah, everything has been copied onto disk and hard copy."

"Was anything else on Wycoff's computer?" Eames asked and caught the immediate glance between the other two. "What?"

Neither said anything, nor did they look at her. "What else was on there?" she waited and then sat up, hands on the tabletop, "What else was on the computer? Tell me."

Falacci looked at Logan with 'you take this one' and took another huge bite. "Nothing, Alex, nothing else was on it," Logan answered softly.

Alex did not believe this for a second. The three sat quietly and then it dawned on her, "Oh my god, it was Bobby, wasn't it? Surveillance video. He said that his apartment had been bugged."

The other two looked down and Eames's mind scurried on, figuring it out. She pushed away her untouched salad and leaned forward. "Don't tell me footage of Bobby and Gleason in bed was on that computer," she asked softly.

Falacci set down what was left of her sandwich and wiped her mouth, suddenly no longer hungry. Logan wiped his hands over his face and then leaned in, "Look, Alex, it's gone – every trace."

"Oh God!" Eames exclaimed. She looked away and reddened, thinking of what might have been seen. "Are you sure you got all of it? Did Wycoff put it on disk? Did he send it to anyone? Jesus! It could be anywhere! Did you –," she was working herself up.

"Alex, it's gone; it's gone," Logan put a hand on the tiny detective's wrist and squeezed comfortingly. "Just let it go, it's gone."

She stared at her colleague and wanted to believe him. Eames looked at Falacci, woman to woman, and saw a friend. Eames knew they were not telling her everything and understood that they were protecting her and Bobby from something terrible.

The three sat quietly for another minute and then Falacci said, "We should get back." As one, they scooted back their chairs and stood. Logan and Falacci chattered on the short walk back to OPP. Once in the elevator, Eames stood quietly, lost in her thoughts from yesterday afternoon.

After Bobby and Sledge left for Evanston the day before, she stood at Bobby's bedroom door, wanting more than anything to look around. She fought herself for several minutes, and then walked back to the living room. With keys in hand had and jacket on, Eames stood still; she would never have another opportunity. It was then she decided that her 'near snoop' would become a real snoop. Ever the professional, Eames actually pulled on gloves before looking in the drawers of the nightstand beside the bed.

She sat on the edge of her partner's bed and looked inside a very private place. She found things that told her things about him, about him and his wife. Things she imagined them using, seeing them use in her mind's eye; and she envied the dead woman – viciously.

The bottom drawer held other items: small canister of pepper spray, holster for the Glock, box of shells, fully loaded second clip, gun cleaning kit; and four old, very dirty (and well used) magazines along with three xxx-rated DVDs.

Carefully, she pulled open each of the six drawers in the dresser at the foot of the bed – Bobby's clothes: a drawer of boxers (and a short stack of briefs) and undershirts, a drawer of jeans, and one each of socks, tee-shirts, and sweats. Atop the dresser lay his shield and NYPD ID, a crockery jar holding quarters; an old, flat, man's jewellery box containing Bobby's tie clip, two pair of cuff links, an old watch and other bits; a memorial card from his mother's funeral; and a folded receipt from McFarland's Funeral Home.

Eames opened the top drawer of the chest to the left of the door, glanced in and then pushed it shut, leaving the others untouched – Gleason's things. Eames moved to the closet; beside a laundry basket holding dirty clothes sat a large cardboard box. She opened the box and realised it contained things from the Evanston apartment; she shut the box and then the closet door.

The bathroom was next. Among the usual, the medicine cabinet held five pill bottles – two for Gleason, heart and birth control – and three for Bobby. Eames was surprised to learn that her partner was being treated for high blood pressure and acid-reflux; and, he was on an anti-depressant – a strong one. Gleason used sanitary pads, not tampons. A short basket of car magazines sat atop the toilet tank.

Eames hated herself. She pulled off the latex and stuffed them into her jacket pockets and left.

"Eames?"

She startled, "What? I'm sorry, I wasn't listening."

"Do you want to help going through Wycoff's contacts?"

"Sure, sure."

The pair of detectives looked at their colleague, nodded and then moved to get the list.

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