Disclaimer: I own no rights to Numb3rs or its characters. I do own the original characters and such.
Author's Note: Ok, so this chapter was especially difficult to write, considering the emotions that surround it. It turned out much longer than I wanted it, but when I was finally done I couldn't cut anything else out. Today's surprise guest is Claudia, David's 'girlfriend' from the morgue. Gomez is her last name, I dug it out from tv dot com.
"Maybe they're seeing, something we don't, darlin, let's give them something to talk about"
-Bonnie Raitt-
Peyton sighed as she shifted the clutch down, and pressing both it and the brake brought her car to a stop. Cutting the engine, she parked in Lot # 013, her assigned spot in the underground garage of the L.A. FBI branch. It was safer to park her expensive convertible down below where there were cameras and guards than to chance it out on the streets. She checked her reflection in the mirror, making sure her hair was in place and the color on her lips was smear-proof. Assured that her image was befitting, she gathered her belongings: her shoulder bag that held her laptop and notes, her purse, and her thermos. She left behind the smell of imported German leather to join the metallic tang of the elevators.
The elevator binged on what was her normal stop, the basement, home of her office and the lab, but today she continued up one more level. Peyton exited as it came to a stop, squeezing through two orderlies, mindful not to spill her precious coffee. It was, after all, the only thing that kept her functioning at all hours. Her steps quickened as she navigated the corridors. The air was cooler here. The temperature in morgues was always kept far below normal. This was done for two reasons; one, dead bodies were stored in frigid temperatures and two, the cooler air locked out the smell of the dead better than hot air.
Room one…Room two…Room three…Room four…Ah. Yes, this was the one. Without knocking or waiting for any type of welcome, Peyton charged through, throwing the double doors wide, and grinning as she startled two underlings.
"Dr. Gomez?" she asked, laying a hand on the shoulder of the medical examiner nearest to her.
The man muttered a quick 'over there, Dr. Huntzberger' and bent back down to his task of sewing up the body beneath him. Peyton turned, attempting to discover just exactly where 'over there' was. Dr. Gomez had her body. It was easier than she thought, considering the fact that Dr. Gomez was actually Claudia Gomez, a woman. There was only one woman 'over there'.
Approaching the woman who looked to be somewhere around her age, she asked "Am I correct in assuming that you're Dr. Gomez?"
The potential Dr. Gomez frowned from being interrupted from her paperwork, but adopted a neutral face as she recognized just who it was in front of her. "Yes. And you are Dr. Huntzberger correct?"
"Correct."
The other doctor rose and shook her hand. "It's nice to finally meet you. Call me Claudia. You are a lot better than the last Assistant Supervisor we had. Hateful old man. Sexist too. Believed women had no place in this field."
"Thank you."
"I assume you are here about your Jane Doe?"
"Yes. Have you finished with her?" She followed Claudia to a silver metal table set at the farthest end. A white sheet draped the body beneath, allowing the dead some form of privacy.
Dark lean fingers pulled the sheet off. Now she was exposed. "I finished her last night. The head this morning. I kept her on the table for you. I figured that you would want to see her for yourself and have me go through the findings instead of just reading the notes."
Peyton gazed down at the recovered body. It had been rinsed of the green slime and cleaned. The head had received the same treatment. The body now resembled that of a proper human body, despite the fact that a gaping hole sat where the head was supposed to be attached to the exposed spinal column. The empty sockets gazed up at her, openly pleading for her help. Her own eyes never left them as she talked. "Still no I.D.?"
The other woman shook her head and sadly confirmed what Peyton already knew; no one had called her last night from the office. Someone would have had they of found a name to go along with the body. "No. CODIS didn't turn up anything. Fingerprints, the few that I was able to lift off, were a miss as well."
It took her a few moments to answer. "So she remains a Jane Doe." This girl was no older than twenty. She belonged to someone. Somewhere she had a family. Somewhere somebody was missing her. Were they crying because they had no idea where she was? Or were they unaware that their daughter or girlfriend was even missing? "Her face is in ruins, but we might be able to find something from the missing person's database. Someone had to of known her."
"Poor baby. This bastard did a number on her."
Her eyes couldn't seem to tear away from the sockets. They trapped her. "Right. Run through it."
"Female. From the rate of decomposition I'd say that she's been dead for about two weeks. Sixty six inches tall. Judging by her bones and her teeth I'd say roughly between the ages of eighteen and twenty. The forensic orthodontist agreed with me," she lifted the right arm and then pointed to the thighs, "Abrasions and lacerations on her right arm and thighs. She has two contusions. One is on her hip. The poor thing probably fell down. The other one I found on her head. It appears to be from some type of blunt force trauma, perhaps a fall or the slamming of her head into a wall or the ground. She has a birthmark on the right side of her hairline. The most interesting thing I found was the puncture wounds. They are located on her face and the base of her neck."
"What type of puncture wounds?"
Claudia dropped the arm and looked up at her. Confusion and amazement seeped through her voice. "The ones on her neck appear to be from a needle. The ones on her face seem surgical."
Surgical. That was odd. The spell of the sockets was broken at this news. She looked up at the medical examiner. Before she could speak the woman beat her. "If that is what they are whoever performed them knew exactly what they were doing. They're precise."
"And the eyes?" Peyton turned her eyes to the head.
"They were cut out. Again precisely."
The empty sockets glared up at her, but she refused to be caught up in them again. "What did she die from?"
"Acute myocardial infarction."
"A heart attack?"
Claudia nodded. "She was healthy. No damage to her liver, lungs, or kidneys. The heart attack was more than likely brought on by the stress from her captivity."
"Any toxins found in her system?"
"Traces of ketamine were found in her system. Another substance was found, but it remains unidentified."
Peyton stepped back. "Thank you, Claudia. Store her body in one of the chambers for now." She readjusted her shoulder strap, moving away and towards the exit. Her boot heels clicked against the tile, the sound seeming so much louder in the eerie silence of the morgue. She turned, surveying the sterile environment as she sipped her coffee. 'So silent. So cold. A silent cold graveyard.' These thoughts ran through her head as she gave one last look to her Jane Doe as Claudia enclosed her in a cold chamber, locking the door with a vacuum like 'suck'.
Fifteen minutes later found her turning the lights on in her office. Five minutes later, after checking her e-mail and deeming none of them worthy enough of a response from her, found her back on the elevator, squeezing in between two people and thanking God that she was five foot one. Only this time she didn't get out on the one above. This time Peyton exited on the floor that was home to the missing persons' unit. She passed the receptionist, knowing exactly where she needed to go. There was only one room on this floor that housed the computers with the missing persons' files.
She took a seat armed with pictures of the 'cleaned' head and notes from Claudia speculating as to what Jane Doe had actually looked like before she was killed and dumped. For the next five hours she sifted through file after file, hoping to find something. 'Two months, not two weeks. Too short. Too tall. Red hair not brown. Hispanic not Caucasian.' She sighed in relief when her BlackBerry buzzed.
Her hand shot out and caught it as it dropped from the table. "Huntzberger."
"Peyton? It's Don." Ah.
"I know who you are." She replied, smiling.
He laughed softly. "Where are you at? Kathryn's been trying to find you for the last hour; she has results back on the toxins in Jane's body."
"I'm on the missing persons' floor. Trying to find a name to match up with the face."
"Any luck yet?"
"None-." Her voice trailed off as she caught sight of a picture on the computer. Her conversation was forgotten as she hit the back button, bringing back the picture. Brown hair, brown eyes, five foot six. She held the head shot next to the one on the screen. It was a strong match. Very strong. There was even the matching birth mark on the right side of her hairline. Her eyes traversed the screen, hunting for the line that would tell her how long she had been missing. Thirteen days. She had been missing thirteen days.
"Peyton? Peyton? Are you there?"
She exhaled sharply. "I found her."
"You did?" He sounded skeptical.
"Yes. The picture matches. The height, the hair, the features. She even has the same birthmark. Her name is Sofia Friedman. Her mother reported her missing after she failed to come home on the weekend and didn't answer any of her calls. It's her. Her mother lives in West Adams."
"Right. I'll go and talk to her. See if she can confirm that it is her daughter and if she knows anything about why she might have been taken."
"I'm coming with you." It only took a moment for her to reach her decision and she couldn't exactly explain justwhy she wanted to go.
"Sofia was a good girl."
"When did your daughter go missing, Mrs. Friedman?" A soft voice asked, compassion attempting to empathize with the woman.
Don shifted on the couch. Despite the years, he had never gotten used to conversations with the victim's families. No parent ever deserved to have to bury their own child. It was wrong. It went against the laws of nature. He hoped that his father never had to go through that, but with his job it was a toss up everyday he stepped out of the office. Charlie had told him that once. In fact his brother had told him that according to his numbers, Don should have been in the ground by now.
Don turned to the person who had posed the question. Peyton sat next to him, her face a stoic mask. As they awaited the answer to her question, he found himself comparing his partner to the woman on the settee across from them. Peyton was elegant and composed, blonde hair held in a neat bun, purple top and black slacks fitted, and boots rounding out the look. On the other hand, Mrs. Friedman was a mess. She paled in comparison to the other woman in the room. Her shoulders were slumped, brown curly hair frazzled, and clothes rumpled and baggy; it was evident that the woman had lost weight drastically. However, Peyton did not have a daughter that had been missing for thirteen days.
It had surprised him when she had stated that she was going along with him. On his way down to the garage, Don had thought of ways to dissuade her from coming. But she had beaten him there, and when he'd caught sight of her leaning against his Suburban, fiddling with the edge of the file, the reason for not wanting her with him disserted him. Peyton accompanying him didn't seem so bad.
The grieving mother took a shuddering breath. "Sofia went to the UCLA. She was a smart girl. Very smart. She made good grades and always applied herself. Her father and I didn't want her to go there, but she was stubborn. Her father passed away last year and it was rough for the both of us. Sofia wanted to stay home and help me, but I told her that that is not what her father would have wanted. She would have just finished her freshman year," she paused, collecting her thoughts and looked at a photo over the mantle piece, "Sofia was supposed to come home last weekend. She is always there when she says she is going to be. So, when she didn't come home by Sunday and I had not heard from her, I tried calling her dorm. Her room mate Lauren answered. She said that she hadn't seen Sofia since Friday when she left to come home. I called the police and they filed a report, but they haven't been able to find anything. Dr. Huntzberger-"
"Ms. is just fine, Mrs. Friedman."
She nodded her head and then asked in a trembling voice that cracked and wavered. "Ms. Huntzberger, how do you know it is my Sofia?"
Don turned and looked at Peyton. She turned to him and nodded slightly, meaning that she would take this one. Don watched as she turned to look at the picture on the mantle. It was a picture of a smiling girl with the UCLA welcome sign in the background.
"Is this Sofia, Mrs. Friedman?"
When she nodded Peyton gently asked, "May I?"
Too overcome with emotion and clearly not trusting her voice, Mrs. Friedman nodded again. Peyton stood and gently lifted the frame and held it. Her finger traced something on the upper right hand corner. "Did Sofia have a birthmark on her right hairline?"
"Yes."
"I'm truly sorry for your loss, Mrs. Friedman. But our victim has the same birthmark and bears a strong resemblance to Sofia. It's her. Again, I'm so sorry for your loss."
The woman nodded silently and took the frame from Peyton. Seconds later she dissolved into tears. His partner stepped back, looking uncomfortable and retook her seat on the couch next to him. Neither of them said anything for a few moments, Don feeling like an outsider in this home and he assumed that Peyton felt the same way as she tried to look anywhere except at Mrs. Friedman. When she had drawn herself somewhat together Don thought that she could handle his next question.
"Did you talk to your daughter before last Friday?"
"Yes. I talk to her every night."
"Of course. Did Sofia tell you anything was bothering her?"
The woman looked up from her photograph. "I don't understand. What do you mean?"
"Did your daughter tell you anything that sounded suspicious? Maybe someone was following her? Or somebody was bothering her?" He said, attempting to clarify.
"No. She didn't tell me anything like that. She sounded happy."
Don nodded. That had not helped anything.
"When can I see her?"
He swallowed. How was he supposed to explain to her that her daughter was not what was in that silver frame? "Mrs. Friedman, we'll need you to make a positive identification of the body to confirm that it is your daughter. But we want to warn you that your daughter does not resemble what she used to."
The woman's brows knotted in confusion, her eyes glassy but confused. "What do you mean she doesn't resemble herself?"
Peyton came to the rescue this time. "Sofia suffered extensive and brutal injuries. Her head…," she paused trying to find a way to be gentle about it, "Her killer decapitated her and removed her eyes."
The mother swallowed. Apparently she hadn't done a good enough job of softening the blow. "Why?"
Peyton leaned forward. "We don't know at this time."
Mrs. Friedman digested this for a moment. "When can I get her back, Ms. Huntzberger?"
"When our lab is done with processing the last final pieces and you identify the body then I will release her to you."
"How long will that take?"
"A day or two."
Mrs. Friedman shook her head. "That will not work. I need her body back as soon as possible. It has already been too long. She needs to be buried."
Peyton turned to him as if he had the answers. "I don't understand."
Don took in the woman's face. 'Brown hair, Brown eyes, sharp features, features that resembled his and his families' somewhat'. "It's part of your faith. Her body is supposed to be buried as soon as possible. You're Jewish." He stated sadly.
She nodded. "Yes."
"You can have her by the end of the day." He gave Peyton a pointed look.
"Of course. I'll personally see to it, Mrs. Friedman." Peyton reassured.
Twenty minutes later after a few more routine questions and more uncomfortable silence found Don and Peyton back in his SUV and headed back towards the office. It was silent with Peyton lost in her own thoughts, glancing out the passenger window.
"Hey. You okay?"
She turned to him, her face full of sorrow. "No. I'm not okay. That woman had to bury her husband a year ago and now she has to bury her daughter as well. It's not fair. And not to mention that we have nothing on this guy. No prints, no DNA. Hell we don't even know where he got her from. We have nothing but a decapitated body and a silver trunk. And we should have something. I should have something."
She had voiced what he had been thinking. He reached over and laid a hand on her thigh. She stared at it and then him, but he kept it there. "I know. But hey, we've got a name, and her roommate. We know where she went to school. That's a start. We'll get this guy. Don't worry. That brain of yours will find something. We'll get him."
She smiled and stared straight ahead instead of watching the buildings and other cars go by. Don smiled too, but only for a moment. He turned back to driving and murmured to himself, "We'll get him. We have to."
Well? Please, let me know how I did with this one? Please?