Author's Note: Decided to break this up into smaller chapters, to whet the appetite of my readers sooner rather than later. :) And dear readers, remember that your friendly neighborhood fanfiction writer is a little like Tinkerbell; I need applause (reviews) in order to stay alive (keep writing). So if you like the story please consider reviewing. :)
The cool metal hand of the Chief on her brow was what finally roused her. As the world came back into focus, she saw his steel eyebrows askew in panic. "Carmen! What happened? Why are you on the floor? Are you sick? Do you want me to get a doctor?" He peppered questions at her with the speed of a Gatling gun.
The well-oiled machine of her brain felt like it was packed with cotton. What happened….Carmen didn't want to say. She sat up slowly, her head still reeling. "I…I think I fainted. I skipped lunch." She had fainted, but knew it had little to do with missed meals. "Don't get a doctor. A glass of water would be nice."
The Chief continued to fret over her, an anxious mother hen. "I don't know. You should get checked out. I think Dr. Kaplan is still here…"
"No," she spoke sharply. "No doctors. And besides, Kaplan isn't even a medical doctor. He's a psychologist, Chief." And the person most likely to recognize that I just experienced a textbook panic attack straight out of the DSM-III.
The Chief looked wounded, but mumbled, "I'll go to the cafeteria and get you something to eat. Take it easy." God, it killed her to lie to him.
Carmen gingerly climbed into her desk chair and tried to gauge how long she had been unconscious. The sun seemed lower in the sky, so…awhile. She rested her head in her hands and fought the sudden urge to cry. Why did it feel like the world was spinning out of control?
The Chief returned in minutes with what looked like half the contents of the ACME cafeteria. She gulped the water gratefully and took a bite of a sandwich, turkey on rye, which actually did make her feel a little better. The Chief watched her like a hawk; Carmen had the nagging suspicion he would not be satisfied until she had eaten something from every food group. She brushed his concern aside with a studied nonchalance; "It was just a low blood sugar thing, Chief. It's nothing."
He sat down clumsily opposite her with a loud clank and nodded slightly. "Okay. You need to take better care of yourself, Carmen." For an artificial intelligence, the Chief possessed some remarkably human behaviors at times. Because Carmen had the distinct feeling the Chief knew she was lying, but would rather believe her lies than accept whatever the dark truth might be.
After a series of pregnant pauses, punctuated by chewing, the Chief asked, "How did it go down at the station?"
Carmen set down her sandwich in disgust; the thought of O'Leary put her off her lunch. "Not good. Not good at all." She gave him a brief synopsis of her interview with the older detective, leaving out the Spanish expletives.
The Chief's mechanical jaw dropped. "But that's horrible! Someone should report him."
Carmen just shook her head. "I know. Maybe I will when it's all over." She frowned, dejected. "So, that's a dead end."
"But there are other avenues you can pursue. Like your locket," the Chief prompted encouragingly.
Carmen didn't like to tell people about her mysterious locket; so far, the Chief and Suhara were the only two who knew about it. "Yes, the locket," she removed it and looped its chain around the end of a long finger, the imperceptible motion of her hands swinging it like a pendulum. "I've gotten nowhere with the picture. It's not signed by the artist and there's no name or dedication on the back of the portrait. The locket itself is another dead end…it seems to have been mass-produced. I've taken it to every jeweler and department store in San Francisco and no one recognized it."
"I could help," the Chief piped up with the eagerness of a younger sibling. Or a boy with a crush; Carmen could never really tell. "I have lots of information in my data banks and can network with other databases around the world. And my sensors are state of the art," he preened.
Feeling guilty about lying to him earlier, Carmen just couldn't say no. "Okay, Chief. What can you tell me?"
The Chief grasped the gold necklace in his mechanical hand, staring at it intently and examining it with his sensors. "Well, the locket itself is 24 karat gold. It has been embossed using a process consistent with factory production. The necklace consists of a chain of pearls. It's impossible to tell from the naked eye, but they are natural pearls, not cultured ones; the former are extraordinarily rare and worth mucho deneiro. This is a very expensive necklace. I would estimate its present value at well over $75,000 US dollars."
Carmen let out a low whistle; she had known her necklace wasn't cheap but had no idea it was worth that much. "Who would give something so extravagant to a child?" It was not a new question, but sometimes it helped her to think out loud.
"Someone rich. Rich enough that it didn't matter if she broke it or lost it."
"Yes, my first thought, too."
The Chief erupted in glee, "But that's wonderful, Carmen! You could have your own Daddy Warbucks, like Annie! Or a grand destiny…like King Arthur! He was orphaned and raised by strangers, too."
Carmen gave a half-hearted laugh. "Me, some lost princess in a fairy-tale? Really, Chief." She paused. "But there is another possibility."
"What?"
"The locket could be stolen. My mother or father could have stolen it and given it to me." Carmen mused with an ironic quirk, "I could have stolen it."
The Chief sputtered and fluttered. "You a thief? Not in a million years!"
Carmen shrugged and leaned back in her chair. "You're assuming my parents were good people. Maybe they weren't. They could have been anyone, Chief. Maybe they were drug dealers. Or involved in organized crime, like a loan shark or a bookie, and took it as payment in kind." Her earlier conversation with O'Leary had raised some uncomfortable possibilities.
The Chief reluctantly took in what she had to say. She knew he was still holding to his theory that she was a long lost heiress of some kind. "Well, I can do a few more tests on it, run it through a few databases. If you'll trust me with it."
There were days that locket weighed around her neck like an anchor. Yet, Carmen had a hard time letting it go, even into the care of her closest friend. "Thanks, Chief. Check out burglary reports in the Bay Area from the early '60s, if you don't mind. And the pawn shop records, too."
"Yes, ma'am!" The Chief gave her a mock salute. "And what will you do now?" he asked softly.
Carmen swallowed and fumbled for the locket that suddenly wasn't there, suddenly feeling oddly bereft. "I need to talk to the matrons at the Golden Gate Girls' School, see if I said or did anything that might give a clue to who my parents were. It's my only lead right now." And a trip I am not looking forward to.