Author's note: I do not own Pokemon or related trademarks.
This is not as good a chapter as I had wanted, but I need to get some of the other critical characters brought in starting now.
Language warning:
Frank shoved the unidentified infant's file towards the two Pokebureau agents, trying to avoid eye contact. Victoria's bombshell about Tristan being her boyfriend had left him shaken up. It's almost like she forgot about us, he thought, somewhat resentfully.
He heard Tristan mutter a string of expletives under his breath as he saw the crime scene photos. It was his guess that the shiny Gallade had not seen something that disturbing in his career, let alone his entire life. Then he heard Victoria exhale deeply and assumed that she had seen the photos as well.
"When was the last time anyone was questioned about any of these?" she finally asked.
"Probably not since my father's death," Frank replied.
He could feel the two Pokemon staring at him.
"But I guess it's not too late to start again," he added, pulling out some papers and scanning through them. "First person I can think of is Harvey Wikstrom, Jeremy's uncle."
"You can't talk to his father?" Tristan asked.
"I would if he were still alive," was the reply. "He committed suicide a couple of weeks after my father was killed. One shot to the face was enough."
"Might be as good a time as any to start questioning again."
"Right." Frank stood up. "Victoria, I think I'll let you catch up some more on those files. I'll fill Tristan in on the way to talk to Harvey."
"But-" she began.
"We'll be right back," he interrupted, trying to avoid any problems he feared would arise.
Victoria watched her boyfriend and the man who was once her lover walk away, wondering, What the fuck did I do wrong?
It seemed to Tristan like there was no shortage of canine Pokemon in the neighborhood as the barking, confined as it was in people's houses in winter, was incessant enough to almost drown out the knocks on Harvey Wikstrom's door. Somehow, the occupant heard the banging and he opened the door. "Can I help you?" he asked.
Frank held up his badge. "Detective Caldwell, Saffron P.D.. This is Agent O'Meara from the Pokebureau. We wanted to ask you some questions about your nephew's disappearance."
Harvey seemed surprised. "What, do you mean Jeremy? Nobody's come around to ask in years. I thought you people had given up on the case."
"Well, it's been re-opened."
"Oh, I see." The older man, his hairline thinning considerably but still coming over his ears in stringy gray lengths, stepped back. "You two might as well come in. I get the feeling that this may be a while."
"Thanks."
The two walked in and Harvey closed the door behind them. "You'll have to forgive the mess, detectives. I live alone these days. Haven't had a girl in years. Coffee, either of you?"
"No thank you," Frank replied. Harvey turned to Tristan, who shook his head.
"Please, sit down," said the homeowner, motioning with his left arm towards the kitchen table. The three each took chairs and sat down as asked. "Now what was it you wanted to ask me, gentlemen?"
"When was the last time you saw your nephew, Mr. Wikstrom?" Frank began.
The older man took a deep breath. "Oh, gosh, it must have been the day before he disappeared. Happy little baby, that he was. My brother never looked so happy in his life himself. I don't think he ever smiled before then after our mother died. She hung herself, you see. Funny thing. She had a lot of mental issues, but nobody knew about them until it was too late."
A thought hit Frank. "Was he wearing anything blue, did you notice?"
"No, why?"
"Just a hunch. Was there ever any problems in your brother's marriage, did you notice?"
"What? No! Dave and Angela were as perfect a couple as any I'd ever seen. My brother sure found himself a catch. Which is why it was so sad when he killed himself. Maybe our mother passed down her troubles to him."
He went silent after that, and Frank could think of nothing else to ask. "Well," the detective finally asked, "did they have problems with anyone else?"
Harvey seemed to be deep in thought for a few moments, then he looked up. "Yeah, there was some skinhead guy, kept showing up and raising heck. I say skinhead because he shaved his head, not because he was some racist or something. I think he had some weird tattoos as well, but I don't remember them."
"Do you know his name?"
"Ask Angela. She'd probably know. I never went up to the guy. Scared me half to death."
Frank got up and reached into his pocket. "If you think of anything else," he said, setting his business card on the table, "let me know, all right?"
Harvey picked it up and looked at it. "Caldwell. That's a familiar last name. The last detective to show up here, his last name was Caldwell too. You maybe related in some way or something?"
"Do you remember his first name?"
"I think it was Ambrose or Andrew or something like that, yeah."
"Then that was my father. He had the case before I did."
"Well, if you see him again, tell him he needs to get his butt in gear. Can't make you do all the work."
"I would, but I'd have to go back in time. He's been dead for twenty-five years."
"My mistake."
For much of the drive back, the detective and his Gallade counterpart were silent. It was the latter who broke it.
"What was that question about what he was wearing for?" he asked.
"I'm hoping not, but let's just assume that Baby Doe and Jeremy Wikstrom are the same person."
"For fuck's sake, Frank, that's just awful."
"That's why I hope I'm wrong," Frank replied as they came to a stop in the parking lot. "The only way I can be sure, though, is a DNA test. And even with the state-of-the-art equipment we have, I have no idea how long that would take. And Angela Wikstrom is under the impression her son is still alive."
"That length of time? I doubt it."
"I know. But I don't know if there's any way to prove me wrong about my hunch."
Victoria was quiet as Tristan drove to the hotel.
"Still thinking over what we told you?" he asked her. They had filled her in on their questioning when they had returned, and as far as Tristan could tell, she was ruminating on that.
"Yeah, yeah I am," she said, barely audible.
"Jeez, Victoria, you've been moody ever since we got here today. What's gotten into you?"
Victoria closed her eyes, reluctant to talk. Oh, fuck it, she thought. I might as well tell him now and get it over with. "It's Frank."
"Yeah, what about him? He seems like a fairly nice kind of guy to me."
"Remember that case I said I had worked on with him last summer?"
"Yeah, what about it?"
"Well, I had gotten in a car wreck while working on that case because the killer wanted me dead as well to make sure there was no chance he got caught. Well, Frank was the first person I saw when I woke up in the hospital, and from what I heard, he was worried to tears about me the whole time I was out."
"Well, that's sweet of him. I don't see what the problem is with that."
"It didn't end there."
"Oh?"
Victoria sighed again. "I got out of the hospital and he took me to his place for a few drinks and then…."
She went silent.
"Then what?" Tristan persisted.
She sighed again. "And then we had sex."
She glanced out the corner of her eye to look at him. If he was reacting, he wasn't showing it. "But that was last summer, right?" he asked.
"Yes, but-"
"Then what are you freaking out for? You had one night-"
"Two. We did it again the next night after we wrapped the case up."
"Whatever, so it was two nights. I don't give a fuck. You moved on, he probably moved on, end of story, nothing to worry about. Besides, sexual relations between Pokemon and humans are not as rare as you think."
"So, you're not-"
"Upset? Why would I be upset?"
Victoria didn't reply, so Tristan kept driving. But her attitude struck him as odd. There's something not quite right going on here, he mused.