Year of Living Dangerously Part II

by VanessaGalore

Now complete. Sequel to YLD1. If you don't deal with the past, it will deal with you. A future-fic about fatherhood, consequences, & redemption. Logan/Veronica, Ensemble, & everyone I haven't killed yet. Minor Character Death. Reviews contain spoilers.

37. Chapters 126 to 130

DISCLAIMER: I don't own any rights to Veronica Mars. This story is written as a tribute only. No celebrity endorsement is implied by product placements. All real persons' names are used in the sense of "wouldn't it be cool if this person had this gig?" The institution discussed in this fic is not a real institution. No harm or insult is intended to any real-life organizations or to any participants in the meetings of these organizations. The name of the town discussed in this section is a real town, but my wild ravings have nothing to do with the real town or its inhabitants. Again, this fic is not intended for those under the age of 17.

A/N: Beta-ed by Poniesforall, Zaftig-Darling, and Kazy. Any remaining errors are my responsibility. Sorry for the delay in updating.

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Last time on The Year of Living Dangerously Part II-Just the important stuff from chapters 122-125:

( for the whole overblown "previously on", see my journal.
vanessagalore•livejournal•com/105925•html )

THIS SUMMARY REFERS TO THE CHAPTER POSTED 2/23/09; GO BACK AND READ CHAPTER 36 IF YOU MISSED IT.

Veronica begs Logan to tell her what he remembers of the night of Shelly Pomroy's party, hoping to trigger her own memory of that night. Logan tells Veronica that they started by drinking tequila and downing jello shots. He saw Duncan being pursued by Lilly's friend Amanda and told Duncan to "loosen up and get laid." Then Luke gave two doses of the GHB to Dick. Veronica arrived; everyone at the part was making fun of her. Logan says he saw Veronica drinking at the bar; she was nervous and finished her drink quickly because no one would talk to her. Logan didn't see Veronica leave the bar.

A half-hour later, Tadd asked Logan to sell him some of the GHB, and they went out to the pool to conduct the transaction. Logan saw Veronica laying on a lounge chair and decided to have some fun with her. He tried to get her to drink from his flask and mocked her; Dick and Sean joined him, and they took turns harassing her. They set up the salt lick and other people gathered around to watch. Veronica tells Logan that, in her drugged state, she almost welcomed the attention since she had been so lonely since Lilly had died. Logan tells Veronica how Duncan came over and tried to stop it, and Logan had responded by dosing Duncan with GHB, hoping he would relax and have fun that night. Meanwhile, Veronica wandered off and that was the last Logan saw of her that night.

Logan tells her there's more: the week before, he and Dick had caught Beaver staring at a picture of Johnny Damon and had responded by teasing Beaver mercilessly that he was gay. Then they set up Beaver with Cindy, the easy freshman, telling Beaver that he would lose his virginity, but in reality, once Beaver was naked, Seth, their gay classmate came in and tried to make out with Beaver. They took pictures and laughed hysterically at Beaver's discomfiture. Veronica realizes Beaver had a very good reason to want to prove he was a man that night and instinctively is furious at Dick for his role in pushing Beaver at her.

Veronica is upset with the revelation, and Logan assumes she won't be able to forgive him; but she comes to him, telling him he was a kid and she doesn't want to be angry with him. She says he didn't know what had happened to Beaver or that Beaver might react the way he did. Distressingly, Veronica doesn't remember any additional details of that night, despite the new information.

In the morning, they wake up and make love, both of them trying as hard as possible to work on the relationship and to assure the other of their feelings. Logan teases her gently, and she retorts, "There's something you need to know, Smarty Pants, and it's for your own good;" she remembers that Beaver had said almost those exact words to her. She realizes that the timing of Beaver's revelation of Logan's faked alibi could mean that Beaver was trying to distract her from investigating her rape, since Beaver had no way of knowing that Veronica had identified Duncan as the boy she slept with that night and was no longer investigating.

While driving to Rio Linda, Veronica phones Dick and confirms that it was Beaver's idea to reveal Logan's lack of alibi to her. Dick admits he never thought about it, but it's possible that Beaver did that to manipulate her, thereby ruining her trust for Logan and setting up her relationship problems with him in the years to come. Veronica expresses her hatred of Beaver, saying that she knows it doesn't matter because he can't be punished. She understands intellectually that Beaver really doesn't have anything to do with her being able to trust Logan, yet emotionally she hates that he manipulated her and caused her to doubt Logan when she most needed him.

Weevil, enjoying his resumed role with the PCHers, tortures Oswaldo Cortez. He learns that Liam Fitzpatrick told Oswaldo to tell Sheriff D'Amato about Logan's previous affair with Kendall Casablancas. Oswaldo denies knowing why Liam wanted him to do that. He admits that he tells Liam everything he can about the PCH Bike Club. Oswaldo doesn't know the boy in Weevil's surveillance photo, but thinks he's called 'KC' and is definitely from Neptune, despite not being in the NHS yearbook. With the PCHers' help, Weevil sets Oswaldo up to be arrested for using and dealing heroin. Weevil realizes 'KC' might have been in an alternate school program, such as a trade school, and he and Wallace contact Principal Clemmons, who would have had to approve such a program.

Mac's captors are still trying to find Veronica; Mac sent them on a wild goose chase to Aspen. Realizing that Veronica, Keith, and Logan have taken the precaution of using a prepaid disposable cell phone, they force Mac to leave a message for Veronica in order to trace the new number. Veronica picks up the message; she is upset about all the revelations about Shelly's party and unthinkingly returns the call. Mac's captors obtain the Mars' cell phone number and locate them by pinging the phone. Her abductors are upset to realize the Marses are heading for Rio Linda, and they contact a man named Brian, who is already there.

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VERONICA MARS
10:00PM SHO ch: 340 60min 2009 TV-MA
The Twist of the Truth
Keith finds out what's troubling Veronica
and Logan; Leo interviews Padraig
Fitzpatrick.
Veronica: Kristen Bell. Logan: Jason Dohring.
Keith: Enrico Colantoni. Leo: Max Greenfield.
Padraig Fitzpatrick: Brian Scannell.
•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED TWENTY-SIX: "THE TWIST OF THE TRUTH"

Sat. 3/21/09 afternoon: Outside Rio Linda, CA

Logan is driving with Veronica in the passenger seat next to him. Since their lunch stop, the two of them have been lost in thought; Keith, seated in the rear, has tried several times to start conversations only to give up when the other two merely grunted in response. He watches his daughter as she stares out the window without really seeing. Keith observes Logan casting worried glances in Veronica's direction. Finally Logan reaches toward Veronica; he puts his outstretched hand on her knee, and she turns to look at him. Logan says quietly, "You're okay?" She nods slightly and takes his hand.

Sometimes it's very hard to be Veronica's father, Keith thinks. He says aloud, "I think this is our exit."

Logan nods in agreement. As they exit the highway, Veronica asks, "Can we stop for a second? I need to use the bathroom." She motions toward a gas station just ahead.

"Of course," Keith replies. "We can get gas while we're here."

"I'll do it," Logan says.

Veronica gets out of the car and heads toward the convenience store just beyond the gas pumps, and Keith follows her. The men's and women's rooms are directly beside each other, and Veronica disappears into the bathroom without a second look at her father. He uses the facilities and exits into the convenience; he dawdles at a postcard rack displaying cards featuring Sacramento and Rio Linda while he waits for her. Several minutes pass, and a middle-aged woman enters and knocks on the bathroom door. Suddenly concerned, Keith pushes past the woman's husband and taps on the door himself. "Veronica? You okay in there?"

"Just a minute," she says, but her voice sounds off to his critical ear.

"Let me in, honey." He waits, then says again, "Veronica, please let me in." Finally the lock turns, and he pushes in, carefully shutting the door behind him.

Veronica has managed to dump the contents of her purse all over the bathroom floor, and she is trying awkwardly to pick up all her items. Keith opens the door and suggests to the other customer, "Why don't you use the men's room? We'll be another minute. Thanks." The woman harrumphs and turns to the other bathroom.

"I put my purse on the counter, and then I knocked it off. I hate this; I can't even take care of myself anymore. I'm pathetic," she says in an anxious voice. "What the hell is wrong with me?"

"Veronica, let me get it for you," he says quietly. Keith sees that she's been crying again; he tries not to embarrass her by looking. He stoops and busies himself with the miscellany of her purse. She runs the water and splashes her face with her good hand; he notes her awkward movements and sees how frustrated she is by the clumsiness forced by relying on her left hand. "I think that's everything," Keith notes, trying to sound matter-of-fact. I don't know how to help. How the hell am I supposed to...?

She turns off the water and towel-dries her face. She stares at herself in the mirror for a long minute before turning to regard him. Veronica tries to smile, but he sees her eyes welling over again. He puts his arm around her and leads her out of the bathroom. Outside the convenience store, he spots a bench and pulls her down next to him. "Veronica, please tell me what's going on. Honey...." He sees Logan by the car doing a double-take and puts up a hand with a subtle shake of his head, hoping Logan will stay away.

"Dad," she sniffles.

"Veronica, it's all right. Please talk to me."

Hesitantly, she begins, "Last night, I...I asked Logan to tell me what he remembered about the night when I got...when Beaver hurt me. I'm pretty sure I remembered something about the party during the last day at Briar Hill when Klein was confronting me, but now I can't remember it again. I've been so worried about what Logan would tell me; he's been so upset since the end of the operation. I've been thinking that maybe Logan did something that night that he's been afraid to tell me about."

Keith draws in a quick breath; the pain of her words is viscerally intense. "What— Did he do something that night?"

She sighs, so deeply it wounds him. "Everyone at the party was feeding me drinks and mocking me because of...because of Mom and because you were questioning the Kanes about Lilly."

"Including Logan?" Keith can't help the anger in his voice.

"Dad, I've known about that for years. I can remember that, just a little bit; it's fuzzy and seems unreal, but I have like...flashes of what happened. I knew Logan was part of it; I remember him being one of the people tormenting me that night. He told me a long time ago how much he regretted what he did. But he...Logan told last night me that he and Dick also played a terrible prank on Beaver at the party; they were...it was so stupid and cruel, like kids are, because they don't know what can happen. They were teasing Beaver about being gay, and they had one of our classmates set him up. I didn't know about that. It was so thoughtless and mean, and I guess it's possible Beaver was upset about it before he..." Veronica's voice trails off.

Keith frowns but doesn't know what to say. Finally, he says, "A prank? They didn't intend to...."

She nods. "Embarrassing, maybe even humiliating..but it was just kid stuff. What they did was really mean, but they didn't know Beaver had been molested, so...." She shrugs expressively.

Keith envisions a fragile boy struggling with the unbearable pain of his abuse cracking under juvenile teasing and feels a renewed surge of anger toward Woody Goodman. A couple seconds of terror and a relatively painless death was far too good for Woody, for all the unhappiness he caused.

Veronica continues, "Then...in junior year, I was asking questions about the party, and that's when Beaver told me that Logan's alibi for Lilly's murder was false. I think he wanted to stop me from asking questions about my rape. He must have been terrified that I would stumble onto the truth. I called Dick today and asked if he thought it was possible that was why Beaver came to me about Logan's alibi. And...he said, 'maybe.' Dad, if I hadn't stopped investigating, I think Beaver would have—"

Keith is jolted; it's not a connection he had drawn up until now, but Veronica is certainly right—that Beaver was certainly willing to kill to keep his secret safe. He urges helplessly, "Try not to think about that, Veronica." Keith feels nauseous, thinking about a boy plotting to blow up a school bus with no concern for 'collateral damage'.

"Dad, I can't stop thinking about it. Maybe Beaver thought...if I was killed on the bus, it would solve everything. I can't help it; I've been freaking out since I realized that Beaver ratted out Logan to manipulate me. And I've always been so suspicious of Logan; I think Beaver's responsible for that, and it makes me so angry. I've been so cynical and untrusting." She exhales, shaking with stress. "Dad, I still can't remember much of the party. I thought maybe talking with Logan would bring back what I remembered with Klein. You know Klein is going to paint me as unstable. He's going to talk about that last group therapy session to make me look crazy. He's going to say...." Veronica's eyes close, and she drops her head. She mumbles, "I feel crazy, Dad. Sometimes I think I am...unstable. I'm so afraid Klein's going to reveal what I said that last day, and I'll...have a breakdown or something." She breathes out uneasily.

Keith quickly replies, "Do you want to drop out of the lawsuit? One phone call, Veronica, and this will all be over. Let's tell Epstein he's going to have to go after Klein some other way. The feds' corruption case with the payoffs to the education commissioner will have to be enough. Maybe they can convince Maria to testify against Klein. You don't have to testify. Let's drop the case, Veronica." He smoothes her hair from her forehead.

"Don't you dare!" she whispers intensely. "I won't give in to them, I won't! ...It's just, it's just that somehow I have to remember what happened that last day at the school. I'm going to have to watch the videos. I can't be surprised, Dad; I have to be prepared for whatever they're going to say about me. I have to know what I said during the group therapy session. Dr. Friedman said if I decided to do it, she would help me."

Keith is completely at a loss for words. Finally, he says, "Veronica, are you sure? You were...it's going to be very hard to watch."

She turns to him. "Have you watched it?"

He sighs loudly. "Parts of it. And I was listening over the wire while we were rushing to get you out of there. ...You said you and Logan talked about that night? Are you...okay? And...you and him?"

"I think so. Logan and I are trying so hard, Dad. Why does it always have to be so hard for us?"

Keith thinks about what the therapist had said about a random word triggering obsessive thoughts for his daughter because of the programming the school had attempted. He struggles to find the words to reassure her. "Veronica, I—" Keith stops short as Logan walks up.

"What's going on?" Logan asks nervously.

"I told Dad what we talked about last night," Veronica admits reluctantly.

"Everything?" he queries, obviously upset. Logan catches Keith's eye momentarily and looks away. He puts his hands in his back pockets and wavers slightly from one foot to the other in his agitation.

"Logan, sit down," Keith says gently. Logan tentatively sits on the other side of Veronica; she leans against him, and he automatically puts his arm around her. Keith continues, "You know that I don't know much about that night. I don't know if you guys can ever really talk to me about it. Just know I'm here for whatever you need."

Logan lets out a breath he didn't even realize he was holding. Keith recognizes Logan's look of uncertainty, verging on despair, and resolves to find a way to talk to him alone.

Keith adds, "Veronica, are you sure you're up to this today? Why don't we get a hotel room and do this tomorrow, or just forget about it? We can go back to Los Angeles, and you could spend more time talking with Logan's therapist. I think we ought to concentrate on getting you better and forget about Hannah and the Fitzpatricks."

"NO, Dad!" She hesitates, and then continues, "Dad, as we get closer to where Hannah was hiding, I've been imagining how it was for her. She was so alone; she couldn't even call her mom and dad for help." She glances at Logan. "I know Logan feels terrible for what happened to her. We've got to keep trying."

"Veronica, I don't want to do this if it's upsetting you—" Logan starts.

She responds firmly, "Logan, you're not understanding what I'm saying. I've got you and Dad, and Wallace and everyone else who always takes care of me, whether I want them to or not. I keep thinking how awful it was for her on her own, with only a stranger to help her. She had to grow up overnight, without anyone to turn to. And then, whatever they did to her before they killed her." Veronica turns back to her father. "Dad, we can't give up now. I feel like we're close to a big break. Please, I want to do this. I want the world to know what really happened to Hannah. And...you know it's better if I have something to think about so I can't obsess."

Keith turns to Logan. "Are you okay with this?"

Logan looks startled to be asked for his opinion. "Whatever Veronica wants," he mumbles in reply.

"No, Logan, that's not what I asked. Are you okay?"

Distantly, he says, "I keep worrying...I can't help feeling that I caused all this." He waves his hand vaguely. "All the shit that happened at Shelly's party, and then everything with Hannah. I was such a jackass in high school." He sighs in distress. "I don't know what to do. I guess I want to try to make it up to Hannah by solving her murder."

"Logan, you didn't cause—" she protests.

"Logan, you were in an impossible situation with no adults to help you," Keith interrupts. "Yes, it was probably the wrong move to pursue Hannah. I wish I could say that if you had come to me that I would have helped you."

"I didn't even help you very much when you came to me," Veronica notes. "I criticized you instead."

"Your criticisms were duly noted," Logan remarks drily. "I don't know, Keith. I guess we should do this. Maybe we can learn something while we're here. If the Fitzpatricks really did kill her..." he sighs loudly. He looks up and notes, "Maybe I've been hanging around Veronica too long. I want to know. I feel it too...that we're close to something."

Reluctantly, Keith nods. "Veronica, promise me, if you're too tired, or you're upset about something, you'll tell me. You don't have to hide this from me." He glances at Logan. "You're going to tell me what's going on too. And we're going to be okay, I promise you."

They head back to the car. Keith hangs back a little and watches them. Logan's arm is draped solicitously around Veronica; she seems to cling to him, trying so hard to put her trust and faith in him. It's so unlike his daughter to reveal her neediness and worry; it's shocking in its explicit display. Logan's shoulders are slumped, as if he's carrying a heavy burden, and Keith knows that he truly is.

He is suffused with anger at all the adults who let these two down over the years: Lynn and Aaron, possibly the worst parents ever to have lived; the Pomroys, who let that party occur, with all its unsupervised drinking and drugging; Lamb, who refused to investigate Veronica's rape and botched the Lilly Kane investigation and almost every other case during his tenure; the Kanes; the Mannings; the Casablancas; Dr. Griffith; his own wife. Even himself, if he's honest: he was obsessing about the Lilly Kane murder instead of taking care of his own daughter, who couldn't have more clearly called out for help from him with her butchered hair and sudden tough attitude that he now knows was her reaction to the rape.

The list seems endless, with all the Neptune grownups failing their children repeatedly. He remembers Veronica at fifteen, trying so hard to be all grown up, but really still a child and so vulnerable, and he thinks about Logan suffering at home and rocked by three terrible deaths in as many years. They are paying the consequences, but wasn't it really the adults who should have been responsible? They were kids. They're still really just barely adults, and only because life has forced them to grow up too fast. Why didn't we see...we should have reached out to them. We could have prevented....

Veronica triggers the window button and says, "C'mon, Gramps, let's blow this popsicle stand. We're not going to solve this sitting here." She smiles; it's not quite her killer Veronica grin of old, but it's real and palpable.

He smiles back and hurries into the car. "Take it easy on your old man, Veronica." My badass action-figure daughter is still in there somewhere.

Sat. 3/21/09 afternoon: Neptune Sheriff's Department, Neptune, CA

Sheriff D'Amato walks to the interrogation room where Padraig Fitzpatrick is waiting and looks through the one-way mirror at the suspect. The man is a seasoned criminal; he appears confident and calm, but Leo sees cracks in the facade. His foot taps nervously, and Padraig clasps and unclasps his hands as he waits.

Leo unlocks the door and enters; he takes a seat opposite Padraig and places a thick stack of manila file folders on the table between them and a clear evidence bag on top. Padraig looks at the bag surreptitiously before resuming his overtly innocent demeanor. "Sheriff, this is all a big misunderstanding. I don't know anything about money laundering. I think it's my brother Liam you should be talking to."

"Hmm. That's family loyalty for you. Do you happen to know where your brother might be?" Leo asks.

"He doesn't report to me," Padraig replies contemptuously.

Leo consults a paper. "It looks like Liam took a trip to the Cayman Islands in September of last year. Do you know anything about that?"

Padraig's shocked face betrays him. Without thinking, he blurts out, "That sonofa—" He gets hold of himself and clamps his mouth shut. More cautiously, Padraig continues, "Like I said, Liam doesn't tell me everything. I'm his brother, not his keeper. If he's messed up in some scam, it doesn't have anything to do with me. I haven't done anything wrong."

"Really. What about conspiracy to commit murder?" Leo says thoughtfully.

"What? What murder?" Padraig asks, confused.

Leo pushes a photo across the table. "This car stereo is from the vehicle in which Kendall Casablancas was last seen."

Padraig can't help sneering at the name 'Kendall'. "So?"

Leo continues, "The stereo turned up in a pawn shop in San Diego. And the owner produced a bill of sale showing that he got the stereo from Paddy's Used Car Emporium."

"Doesn't prove anything," Padraig remarks. "The murderer probably sold us the radio. And we're a legitimate used parts reseller. We distribute radios all the time to shops up and down the West Coast."

"Well, the judge gave us a warrant based on that radio, and we looked around your chop shop. And we found the car. Well...some of it. Obviously, the majority of it has already been fenced. But we found the frame, and a few parts with the VIN number that you haven't been able to sell yet. And more importantly...we found the seats from the vehicle."

"Seats don't have a VIN number," Padraig replies scornfully. "There's no way to identify seats that belong to a particular car."

"Ah, see, that's the thing. The leather seats with contrasting piping are distinctive; apparently there weren't too many Navigators with that option. And the owner recognizes a rip on the passenger front seat. Seems he had a mishap the week before the car was stolen and hadn't had a chance to have it taken care of yet."

"What's your point? So you found a car seat."

Leo holds up the evidence bag. "Crime scene techs found a hair on the seat. Preliminary analysis indicates it's consistent with Kendall's hair. We'll be sending it to the forensic lab in Los Angeles for definitive identification. I'm confident it will be a match."

"This is ridiculous," Padraig huffs. "I have an alibi for Kendall's murder." He leans forward and says smugly, "I was in your holding cell that night, arrested on a bullshit receiving stolen goods charge."

"That's interesting that you know the date of Kendall's murder off the top of your head."

Padraig stares back angrily. "So I remember the day she was killed. Big deal. It doesn't prove anything. I didn't even know her."

Leo muses, "Says here she took a fall for your brother Cormac back in the nineties."

Padraig mutters, "Don't know anything about that. I didn't kill her. I told you, I was here in your holding cell."

"All right, so maybe you couldn't have actually killed Kendall. It could just be that you were an accessory after the fact. Or maybe it's even criminal conspiracy." Leo shrugs. "It's still eligible for third strike sentencing. And added to the conspiracy and racketeering charges in the Griffith money-laundering case? I think you've got a problem, Paddy. You might want to start talking."

"I didn't have anything to do with that bitch's murder."

"A bitch, huh? So you do know her. Did you have an axe to grind? Did you hate her enough to have her killed? Did you kill her to avenge Cormac's murder? That's still an open case, as I recall."

"I didn't even know she was in town. I didn't even know what she looked like now."

"Oh, so you noticed the plastic surgery." Leo pushes a copy of the photo of Kendall with Dr. Griffith across the table. "Do you think Dr. Griffith did a good job? I hear he doesn't take too many cases nowadays."

"What?" Padraig stares at the photo in horror. His lips work without saying anything.

Leo, watching closely, thinks he's saying, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck. Leo asks, "Sure you don't want to tell me what your brother was up to?"

Padraig glares at Leo furiously. "I want my lawyer. I'm not saying another word."

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••
VERONICA MARS
10:00PM SHO ch: 340 60min 2009 TV-MA
Welcome to Acheron
Wallace and Weevil ask for Clemmons' help;
Veronica, Logan, and Keith in Rio Linda; Mac's
captors assess the situation.
Veronica: Kristen Bell. Logan: Jason Dohring.
Keith: Enrico Colantoni. Eli: Francis Capra.
Wallace: Percy Daggs III. Mac: Tina Majorino.
Sheriff: William Sadler. Van Clemmons:
Duane Daniels. Man #1: ??. Man #2: ??.
•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED TWENTY-SEVEN: "WELCOME TO ACHERON"

Sat. 3/21/09 afternoon: Clemmons Residence, Neptune, CA

Wallace and Weevil have been waiting outside the Clemmons house for about an hour; the principal had told Wallace he was running some errands and would be available to speak with him sometime after two o'clock.

Mr. Clemmons steps out of his car and glances at the two young men approaching. "Mr. Fennel. Mr. Navarro. I'm wondering what was so urgent that you needed to see me on a Saturday." He walks to the rear of his car and opens the trunk. There are several bags of grass seed, topsoil, and a few garden tools.

"Let us get that," Wallace suggests. He nudges Weevil, and they hoist the bags out of the car and carry them to a spot indicated by Clemmons.

"Thank you, boys, I appreciate the help." Clemmons stands with his hands on his hips, obviously eager to begin working in the backyard. "I'm glad to see you've kept out of prison and made something of yourself, Mr. Navarro."

"Oh, I'm completely reformed," Weevil says without a hint of sarcasm. He thinks about torturing Oswaldo and setting him up the night before, and he smiles genuinely. "Life gives you back whatever you put into it."

"That's good to hear. You're working at Hearst College now?"

"Yeah."

Clemmons turns to Wallace. "And I know you've done well on the basketball court, Mr. Fennel. How about your academics?"

"Engineering honor society," Wallace says proudly. "And it wasn't easy, but it was worth it."

"I think you'll find that most things in life are like that. Well, I'm really enjoying catching up with you, gentlemen, but as you can see, I have quite a bit of yard work ahead of me. What's this about?"

Wallace glances at Weevil and takes out the surveillance photo of 'KC'. "Do you know this kid? Veronica is—"

"Veronica? This is something for one of Ms. Mars' cases?" Clemmons remarks. "I should have known. What's she got you involved with now? Dognapping? Perhaps a photo of a wayward spouse." He tsks audibly.

"It has to do with Hannah Griffith's murder. Veronica believes she wasn't really a victim of that serial killer in Los Angeles," Wallace explains. "You read about Veronica's recent investigation at the school in Vermont where Hannah was?"

"Yes, I do remember reading something about that." Clemmons extends a hand for the photo. "This boy looks vaguely familiar, but I'm sorry, I don't know his name." He tries to hand the photo back.

"Okay, we're going to need more than that," Weevil retorts. "He's not in the Neptune High School yearbook, but we've found out he's definitely from Neptune. He goes by the name 'KC'."

"KC?" Clemmons repeats.

Wallace suggests, "We wondered if maybe he was in one of the alternate programs."

"Ah. Auto mechanics, heating and air conditioning, something like that?" Clemmons replies. "Yes, that could be it. I wouldn't have had much contact with him after he entered an alternative program as long as he completed the requirements."

"Yeah. How can we find out his name?" Weevil asks.

"Well, if you'll come by the school on Monday, I'd be happy to take a look through my files and see if I can find his information for you. Now if you'll excuse me, gentlemen, I'd like to enjoy my day off." Clemmons turns dismissively and picks up a shovel.

Wallace exchanges a glance with Weevil; he sees that Weevil's about to blow up, and he puts a restraining hand on Weevil's arm. He rushes to say, "Sir...it's important. We've been working to identify this boy, and we're worried that Veronica's in danger. You've heard the news about the statewide manhunt for Liam Fitzpatrick and Tom Griffith?"

Clemmons nods thoughtfully. "Yes, I did hear something about that."

"Veronica did a lot of the investigative work that led to those warrants," Wallace explains. "The Fitzpatricks aren't too happy with her right now. Could we go to the school today and look through your files?"

"Mr. Fennel, I hardly think—"

"You know, Veronica helped you out more than once," Weevil interrupts. "I think she told me she helped you get promoted in fact."

Clemmons sputters, "That has no relevance to this—"

Wallace chimes in, "And we helped you out last fall. Didn't that little incident when the school's computer servers were completely compromised get swept under the carpet? I wonder if the superintendent knows what happened."

Frowning, Clemmons says, "I see Ms. Mars has taught you well."

Wallace adds, "She needs our help right now. All of us. Please." He looks around the yard. "And...afterwards, we'll help you with your garden."

Weevil opens his mouth to protest, and Wallace quickly elbows him in the ribs. Wallace says, "We'd be happy to help, right, Eli?"

Weevil rubs his side and says, "Yeah. We'll help you." He glares at Wallace, who ignores him.

Sat. 3/21/09 afternoon: Sheriff's Department, Rio Linda, CA

Logan drives slowly down M Street as Keith and Veronica look out the window. "Rio Linda is...depressing," Veronica finally sums up. Many of the buildings appear to be rundown or even boarded up, and the cars on the street are mostly older models, many with large dents, fenders attached with bungee cords, and taillights repaired with tape. Even the trees are scruffy; the ground is sandy dirt with few actual lawns and the occasional pitiful palm tree struggling to survive. They pass a hardware store and see several Mexican men lounging, apparently hoping for daywork as laborers. A market advertising cheap cigarettes and discount beer kegs is next to a check cashing establishment that offers 'lowest rates'.

Logan thinks, Where's the beautiful river of 'Rio Linda'? There's nothing beautiful here. He imagines Hannah walking down the street, looking fearfully over her shoulder in case someone from Briar Hill followed her here. Or maybe...would she have had an escape plan ready just in case someone recognized her? She probably always carried a change of clothes and enough money to run if necessary. I wish I'd realized she needed my help. He clenches his fist, cursing his idiocy in using her against her father and his obtuseness when she called him after she escaped.

Veronica looks at him quizzically, noticing his tension. He mutters, "Just thinking about Hannah."

She nods. "I know. It's pretty bleak. It's a long way from Neptune High and the beautiful mansions in 90909. And it's not the pretty meadow from her postcard."

"I should have—" Logan begins.

"Don't. Let's just see what we find out," Veronica urges quickly. She reads his mind. "If you'd helped her, you would have led her father's private detectives right to her, and she would have ended up back at the school."

"I could have gotten a lawyer—" he replies.

Keith interjects, "It wouldn't have helped. The courts have reaffirmed over and over that parents are allowed to send their kids to any school they want. That's Rio Linda Boulevard up there...turn right," and Logan maneuvers the vehicle into the right lane. They find the county sheriff's Rio Linda office and park in the lot. As they exit the car, Keith pulls Logan aside. "Your weapon...leave it in the car. I don't want a problem in there." Logan nods and removes his weapon and the holster, locking it with Keith's in the glove compartment. They walk into the shabby building and look around while they wait for the desk clerk.

The desk clerk is tapping on an out-of-date computer and cursing its noncompliance. Veronica reads a poster taped onto the cheap paneled wall: 'Support Rio Linda-Elverta Incorporation: Get Rio Linda the police protection it deserves'. She tugs on her dad's sleeve and motions toward the poster. He nods as he looks around the room at the worn furniture and lack of modern office equipment; one deputy is typing a report on an old-fashioned typewriter. He mutters, "Looks like Sacramento County isn't doing much for Rio Linda...just what would have happened to everything outside of 90909 in Neptune if Woody's plan had gone through."

The desk clerk asks them to take a seat for a moment. Veronica wanders over to the wall and reads some of the framed newspaper articles. 'Fiery Plane Crash Kills Three; Rio Linda Deputy Among the Victims', dated December 27, 2008. She reads curiously that the private plane had been on its way back from Vancouver; another posted article dated two months later contains a statement from the National Transportation Safety Board that the officials continued to regard the incident as 'suspicious' and were still investigating. A nearby plaque lionizes the deputy killed in the crash as 'Rio Linda Hero of the Year'. Another article lists the volunteer efforts of the Rio Linda Sheriff's Department at several local halfway houses for prisoners released from nearby Folsom Prison. She has begun to scan an article talking about the private security hired to protect the local combined school district when she notices that the desk clerk has motioned to them to enter the sheriff's office. Veronica quickly catches up and joins the others.

"How can I help you, Mr. Mars?" the sheriff asks, examining Keith's credentials closely. "You're a little far afield here in Rio Linda."

"We've been hired by Ms. Stephanie Denenberg, the mother of Hannah Griffith, the latest victim of the Saturday Night Slasher in Los Angeles. We were told by an informant that Ms. Griffith was living here in Rio Linda just after she disappeared three years ago. Her mother is hoping to find out a little about her daughter's life. It's just for a sense of closure...you can understand a mother's anxiety in a case like this," Keith explains. He pushes a copy of Stephanie Denenberg's contract with Mars Investigations across the desk to the sheriff, who scans it with a frown.

The sheriff appears to be lost in thought. Suddenly he looks up and says, "You're those investigators who were at that school in Vermont...the ones who got Assemblyman Frazzino arrested on those bull child abuse charges. He's done a lot for Rio Linda, including sponsoring a lot of bills supporting child welfare." The sheriff shakes his head in disgust.

Uh-oh, Veronica thinks. She opens her mouth to speak, but her dad places a warning hand on her knee.

Keith replies soothingly, "It was a difficult situation. I'm sure that the truth will come out in the end. There were a lot of victims at the school."

Somewhat mollified, the sheriff grunts in response. "What can I do for you?"

"We'd like to ask your help in reconstructing the last few years of Hannah's life. We have a couple photos here, and we've run a few possibilities for alterations she might have made to her appearance." Keith hands over a stack of 8x10 glossy photos, featuring Hannah with different hair colors and styles, and a sheet of paper with a Rio Linda address. "And this is the address where we believe she was living after she ran away from the boarding school."

"She was hiding here? In Rio Linda?" the sheriff asks doubtfully as he takes the photos.

Veronica chimes in, "From the school and from her parents. She wouldn't have wanted to attract attention. She was living with a woman named Katherine Silver who was using the alias Katey Shaffer. We're assuming Hannah was using an alias as well."

The sheriff looks at the materials cursorily and taps a few keys on his computer. He shakes his head, muttering, "Nothing in the system on either of those names. Just an expired driver's license for Katey Shaffer with an address in Sacramento. There's certainly no record of her here in Rio Linda." He glances up. "We're a little short-staffed here. Money's tight, and we really don't have enough deputies to cover our area as it is. I don't think I can justify putting a deputy on this."

Keith puts up a placating hand. "That's okay. Mostly we just wanted to check in with you before we began looking around. So...we have your permission to operate in your jurisdiction in this matter?"

"Yes. I appreciate your checking in with us. I don't think you'll find anything. When did the girl die?"

"January," Veronica replies.

"Two months ago? Awfully cold trail."

"Her mother is just trying for some sort of peace of mind in a very difficult situation," Keith replies gently.

"Huh. Well, if her daughter ran away, she probably deserved to be at that school," the sheriff opines. He glances at Veronica. "Kids...they think they know everything."

Veronica seethes inside; Logan grasps her hand warningly. Keith quickly says, "Thank you again, Sheriff. We'll be in touch." He stands up and leads them out of the office, grasping Veronica's elbow to propel her forward as Logan closes ranks behind.

Veronica shakes off her dad's hand as soon as they leave the building. "What the hell?" she asks angrily.

"Veronica, I don't trust that guy," her dad answers. "We're not going to get any information out of him. At the very least, he's overworked and underpaid, and he isn't going to go out of his way to help us. And, at the worst...." He shrugs meaningfully.

"I don't understand," Logan remarks.

"I had a bad feeling," Keith says obliquely.

"What do you mean, a bad feeling?" Veronica queries.

Keith sighs. "Something seems wrong here in Rio Linda. I don't know what it is, but I wouldn't be surprised if the sheriff was involved. He had a pile of papers on his desk about methamphetamine busts," he reveals.

Veronica snorts, "Reading upside down, the Mars specialty." She smiles ruefully at her dad. "You're thinking...."

"I don't know what to think, but meth is a possible connection to the Fitzpatricks."

Sat. 3/21/09 afternoon: Somewhere in the United States

The two men have been holding quiet discussions for several hours; Mac occasionally sees enough of the computer screen to confirm that they are watching a moving dot on a map of Northern California. The man in charge takes several phone calls and gives terse instructions to the callers. Mac tries to hear what they are saying; she's been trying desperately to avoid giving into her fears by concentrating on gathering as much information as possible on the two men. She has refused to think about the fact that she's seen both their faces and could easily identify them.

Alan has been unconscious now for about eight hours in Mac's estimation. She keeps looking at him, trying to determine if he's still breathing. The men not even caring whether he's dead or alive is almost scarier than the beating they gave him the day before. She swallows, certain that Alan isn't going to be able to help her. It's all me...think, Mac.

As she listens, she tries to move her bound hands and feet to prevent them from falling asleep; with no other options, she's decided she might have to try something crazy. She has contorted her fingers as much as possible but hasn't been able to work the end of the duct tape loose. At one point, she tried so hard to loosen the tape that the chair tilted sideways momentarily before falling back to the floor with a bang; the men looked over suspiciously, and she had said lamely, "Sorry, fell asleep." The man in charge had regarded her with narrowed eyes, and she had realized that he was considering whether she was worth keeping alive.

At that point, Mac had resolved to find a way to become essential to her captors; if nothing else, maybe she could misdirect the men away from Veronica. She fought the rising panic down and tried to imagine what Veronica would be planning in this scenario. Be smart, Veronica...please realize that I was sending a message with 'Ronnie'. Mac has been trying to prepare another message in case they have her call Veronica again. Got to be ready.

The cell phone rings again, and the man in charge triggers the send button. "Yeah....You saw them at the Rio Linda sheriff's department....Both of them are armed? Why didn't you just take the guns?...What do you mean, following them?" His eyes flick to Mac's. "What's the plate number?" He scribbles on a sheet of paper. "Hold on, I'll run the number."

The man cradles the phone between his ear and his shoulder and types on the laptop; Mac recognizes the login screen for the FBI databases she had been using at the RCFL in San Diego. She wonders if they're still near San Diego; when she and Alan had been taken, they had been drugged, but she thinks they were driven here by car, and she has decided that they couldn't have driven for more than a couple hours. Or maybe not.... Mac keeps watching and listening, trying to think of something else.

The man stares at the screen for several seconds before announcing, "The car's registered to the Nick Harris Detective Agency. They must have hired security. You'll have to improvise....Yeah, that's why we're paying you the big bucks, Brian....Perfect....Yeah, we accessed their call records. They called a residence at 849 Santa Ana Avenue near the airfield; why don't you check it out?...I don't know how they found out she was in Rio Linda, but they know a lot....Let me know." He hangs up and turns to Mac. "I think it's time to get out of here." He fumbles in a duffel bag and withdraws a prescription pill bottle. "You're going to take two of these."

"No," she protests weakly.

"Your choice," the man says. "You take the pills, I'll give you some water, maybe even some food when we get where we're going. Otherwise..." He puts down the pill bottle and takes a syringe out of the bag, showing it to Mac.

Mac breathes heavily, trying to think. She says, "What about Alan?"

"Oh, you're right." He rummages in the bag again and pulls out a gun with a silencer attached. He quickly flips the safety on the gun and shoots Alan in the head; he's completely matter-of-fact, almost indifferent to the resulting carnage. Mac's vision blurs as she looks at the oozing bloodstain on the wall behind Alan's head.

The man says calmly, "You're absolutely right, Mac, we really didn't need him anymore." He picks us the phone and dials a number. "Cleanup on aisle nine," he says lightly. He chuckles in response to something he hears on the other end. "Yeah, Sheffield. Stupid cocksucker stickin' his nose where it doesn't belong....We'll be out of here in an hour." He hangs up and turns to Mac. "You gonna take these pills or what?"

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••
VERONICA MARS
10:00PM SHO ch: 340 60min 2009 TV-MA
A False Sense of Security
Veronica, Logan, and Keith find where Hannah
was living; followup questions for Mrs. Griffith;
the security precautions hit a snag.
Veronica: Kristen Bell. Logan: Jason Dohring.
Keith: Enrico Colantoni. Leo: Max Greenfield.
Evelyn Blake: Lynn Cohen Mrs. Griffith:
Jennifer Westfeldt. Kavner: Eric Bana.
Harris: Steve Harris.
•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED TWENTY-EIGHT: "A FALSE SENSE OF SECURITY"

Sat. 3/21/09 afternoon: Residential area, Rio Linda, CA

Logan pilots the car down a street about ten minutes away from the sheriff's department. The houses are small and rundown; they see several rusted out cars propped up on concrete blocks in the yards. At one house, an old refrigerator, avocado-colored, sits with its door hanging open on the sagging front porch. Veronica stares at it as they drive past; Keith glances at her, certain what she's remembering. Most of the homes have wrought-iron bars over the windows and doors, and several have large dogs chained prominently in the yard.

Logan slows down as they approach the number they're looking for. They see people hanging out, not doing anything; they stare curiously at the car as it passes. A man is working on a junker car halfway down the block. As Logan parks, he stops what he's doing to look at them suspiciously. Logan unlocks the glove compartment and hands Keith his gun before putting his own back in the holster under his light jacket. Veronica frowns, unhappy about the weapon. Before he exits the car, Logan leans over and kisses her forehead. He whispers, "Don't worry, you'll be the man in this relationship again soon enough." She makes a face, and he taps her nose softly with his forefinger. "Stand down, Starbuck," he says lightly.

She scoffs. "Frak me."

"Come on, let's go."

They walk up to the house. The porch is littered with advertising circulars and trash. Keith rings the bell as Veronica tries to look in the window. She uses a tissue to wipe off some of the dirt and grime on the glass. She comments, "I think the house is empty."

Keith knocks loudly, in case the doorbell isn't functioning. The man working on the car down the street has stopped pretending to do anything other than stare at them balefully. Keith says, "Wait here." He walks toward the man, who crosses his arms and makes no move to meet him halfway. Logan and Veronica watch as Keith extends a hand. The man looks at it without uncrossing his arms, and Keith drops it and asks a question. The man shakes his head, offering what looks like one-word answers. Keith nods a thank you and turns back. He rejoins them on the porch.

"Anything?" Veronica asks.

"He claims he doesn't know anything about the people who used to live here and refused to look at the photos of Hannah." Keith sighs. "From the smell and the bloodshot eyes, I'd say he started smoking up early this morning."

Logan asks, "Are we going to try to get into the house?" He glances around nervously. At the far end of block, the men hanging out on a porch seem to be looking their way.

Keith shakes his head. "There's too many people watching right now. We don't need any more methheads coming after us. When we talk to the landlord, we'll ask if he'll let us look around. We'll break in as a last resort; I can pretend to be a telephone company worker on a repair call." He surveys the neighborhood. "Let's try the neighbors...see if anybody knew Hannah or Katey Shaffer."

No one is at home on the right, but the house appears to be occupied. Keith leaves a note on his business card without much hope of a response. On the left, a man opens the door a crack and slams it shut when he sees them.

"Friendly people hereabouts," Veronica comments. "We're not going to get anything out of these people."

"We came a long way. Let's try some of the other neighbors before we leave," Keith suggests. They garner the same lack of response from three more houses. Two doors down, they approach a house without any trash in the yard. All the windows have wrought-iron bars on the windows, and the front door is protected by a heavy iron grate.

Veronica sees a curtain twitch behind the iron bars; she watches carefully and thinks she sees an elderly woman watching them. "Dad...let me try this one alone."

"Veronica—"

"I think it's an older woman. She'll be too frightened of all of us. You're right here; I'll be all right. Look at the house; it's the only one on the block that's been painted in the last ten years," Veronica notes persuasively.

Keith sighs. "All right. Be careful. If anything's wrong—"

"I know. Give me the photos," she requests, and he hands her the packet.

Keith and Logan watch nervously from the sidewalk as Veronica walks up the steps onto the porch and rings the bell. She takes out her private investigator ID. She calls out, "Hello, my name is Veronica Mars. I'm a private investigator from Neptune, California. I'm putting my ID where you can see it through the window. I have some questions about a young girl who lived in the brown house across the street until a few months ago."

She holds the ID up to a small window high up on the door. After a minute, she hears several locks being turned, and the door is opened. The woman says, "Let me see that." Veronica gives her the ID, and the woman stares at it for a long time before returning it.

Veronica points to her dad and Logan on the sidewalk. "That's my father and my friend. We're working for the girl's mother. She was killed in Los Angeles in January, and the mother would like to know more about her life here in Rio Linda." And especially who killed her.

"She was killed?" the woman replies, shocked.

Veronica hands her a copy of the press clippings about Hannah's death. The woman reads silently, getting increasingly upset. Veronica asks, "Did you know her?"

"She said her name was Meredith. She helped me with my groceries one day when I wasn't feeling well. There's no one else decent left around here," the woman says bitterly. "Not like thirty years ago, when this was all nice working class families. And I can't sell. Houses ain't worth a tinker's dam in this neighborhood now. Look at the trash in front of that house," she exclaims, pursing her lips in annoyance at the adjacent house.

"Meredith. Did you know her last name?" Veronica asks. "It would help us a lot if we knew the name she was using."

"She never said. She didn't look like this. Her hair was different."

Veronica slides the photos out of a manila envelope. "Did she look like any of these, Mrs., uh?"

"Evelyn Blake." The woman adjusts her glasses and peruses the different Photoshopped versions of Hannah. "Like this one, I guess, but a little bit shorter. Maybe a little darker too," she finally decides, pointing to a picture with shoulder length dark brown hair.

Veronica thinks about her own recent makeover and how long she had had to sit in the beauty salon the day before while they recreated her original hair color. They went to the trouble of dyeing her hair back to its original color before they killed her. They wanted Hannah to be identified. She tries to think if any of the press coverage or the autopsy reports had mentioned whether Hannah's hair had recently been dyed. They might not have paid much attention because they were assuming she was a prostitute.

Mrs. Blake seems to read her mind. "The article said she was working as a prostitute. That doesn't sound like Meredith. She was a nice girl."

"Was she working here in Rio Linda?"

"She didn't say. But I saw her waiting at the bus stop at the end of the street most days at 3:30." The woman points, and Veronica sees a sign with a bus icon.

"The phone records indicate that the phone was disconnected in mid-November."

Mrs. Blake thinks before replying, "That sounds about right. I think that was the last time I saw them."

"Do you know her new address?" Veronica asks. "We're hoping to speak with the woman she was living with."

Mrs. Blake regretfully shakes her head 'no'.

"Do you know why they moved?"

The woman laughs without mirth. "No, but I can guess. Too many meth dealers."

"Methamphetamine?" Veronica presses.

"It's like a plague here in Rio Linda. People start using, and then they start dealing to buy more, and then...." She shrugs. "House blew up over on Arroyo Seco 'bout a year ago. Newspaper said they were 'cooking' meth."

"Is that why no one will talk to us?"

She snorts. "They won't talk to you because they figure you're probably cops or feds. The brown house has been vacant since they left. Not too many people want to live around here anymore. And you can see, the landlord doesn't do much to keep the property nice."

Veronica withdraws some more photos from the envelope. "Mrs. Blake, have you ever seen any of these men around here?" She shows the woman pictures of Liam Fitzpatrick and his brothers, Daniel Mulvaney, Gerry Black, and Dr. Griffith. The woman shakes her head at each photo. "How about these, if you don't mind?" Veronica hands her a sheet with photos of the entire Neptune Sheriff's Department. Without access to the FBI databases, they weren't able to locate photos of the agents on Mike's list, but Keith had thought it was worth eliminating the possibility of a crooked cop in Neptune as well.

The woman notes the uniforms and looks up at Veronica quizzically. "Aren't these policemen?"

"Yes. There's been some concern that a law enforcement official was involved in Meredith's murder."

Mrs. Blake regards Veronica shrewdly. "Pretty dangerous investigation you're running, miss. I see you've already managed to get hurt," she notes, nodding at Veronica's sling.

Veronica flushes. She motions at the sheet. "Do you recognize any of these people?"

Mrs. Blake turns back to the sheet of photos. She looks at each picture and returns the photos to Veronica. "I don't believe so. But then again, I haven't seen Meredith since November. She was killed in...."

"January," Veronica says helpfully.

"I'm sorry. If I saw any of these people, I've forgotten their faces by now."

"Can you think of anything else?" Veronica asks persuasively. "There was a terrible misunderstanding between Han— Meredith and her mother, and her mother was devastated when Meredith was killed."

The woman shakes her head regretfully. "I just spoke to her that one time. She seemed like a nice girl, very quiet. She kept to herself and didn't bother anyone. So did the other woman, the one she was living with. She'd lived here for five years, and I never spoke to her. I have to say, they're about the only ones on the block that never had to call the police to break up a fight or arrest someone."

Veronica hands her a business card. "Thank you so much for speaking with me. This is my dad's agency, Mars Investigations. Can you give us a call if you think of anything else? And...if we have more questions, can we call you?"

"Of course. I'm here, everyday. I'm in the book. Be careful, young lady." Mrs. Blake closes the door and engages all the locks.

Veronica rushes back to Logan and her dad. "Hannah was using the name 'Meredith'. She had dyed her hair dark brown, maybe shoulder length or a little shorter. The woman said she didn't know where Hannah moved to or the last name she was using, but Hannah used to take the bus to work every day, around 3:30." She points toward the bus stop. "There can't be too many businesses with those kinds of hours on this route."

"Sounds like a restaurant job, maybe a grocery store. Good job, honey," Keith says, nodding. "Let's look up that bus route and see if we can find any restaurants along the way."

Sat. 3/21/09 afternoon: Griffith Residence, Neptune, CA

Mrs. Griffith flings open the front door and stares stonily at Sheriff D'Amato. "Sheriff," she says coldly.

"Mrs. Griffith, may I come in? I have a few follow-up questions," Leo asks in a neutral voice.

Without responding, she opens the door wider to allow him entrance. They sit down in the living room. Leo says, "Have you heard from your husband?"

She shakes her head 'no'. "Of course not. Wouldn't your deputy have told you?" she adds sarcastically, pointedly inclining her head toward the squad car parked out front.

Leo takes out his notes. "Mrs. Griffith, your husband's checking account transactions indicate that he hired A-One Security for something back in September. There's no record of an incident report. I'm wondering what happened."

"There was a break-in. I was nine months pregnant at the time; I came home from the doctor's, and Tom was boarding up a broken window. He was pretty upset with me about to go into labor at any moment and got an alarm system installed the next day. He had a bodyguard watching me for about six weeks."

"A bodyguard? For a break-in?" Leo asks, surprised. Pretty extreme reaction to a break-in.

"He said they were looking for narcotics. Apparently he surprised them rifling through his papers trying to find his prescription pads and scared them off. He said he was worried about me and the baby."

"Did he say anything about not filing a police report?" Leo queries.

"I guess I didn't think to ask," Mrs. Griffith replies reluctantly.

"And he had a bodyguard watching you for about six weeks? Why did that stop?"

"One day he came home and said we didn't need the extra security any more, and he was canceling the bodyguard. We kept the alarm, of course," she says, pointing at the keypad mounted by the front door.

Sounds more like someone was threatening Griffith, Leo thinks. "Has anyone harassed you? Or maybe followed you?"

"No! What are you saying?" Mrs. Griffith answers nervously.

"What exactly did your husband say when he canceled the bodyguard?" Leo presses.

"I told you, he just said we didn't need the extra protection any longer. I was busy with the baby, and I was just relieved that he didn't seem so stressed."

Leo ponders the new information. "So your husband was very stressed, oh let's say, September through...."

"Through early November."

"And then he calmed down," Leo says leadingly.

Mrs. Griffith says evasively, "Um, yeah."

"Did something else happen? Mrs. Griffith...it sounds to me like your husband was playing a dangerous game of chicken with the Fitzpatricks. Did anything else happen?"

She sighs loudly. "It's not going to matter, is it. Our life is ruined already."

Leo raises his voice. "What is it? Tell me."

"Tom was a nervous wreck the first couple weeks in January. I've never seen him so wound up. I'd wake up in the middle of the night and find him sitting in the kitchen drinking. I told him that I was going to go to a lawyer if he didn't start working on the marriage. That's why we went away for Martin Luther King Day. The Los Angeles police tracked us down in Cabo San Lucas with the news that Hannah had been killed."

So the doctor was already a nervous wreck before Hannah was murdered. "Thank you, Mrs. Griffith. If you think of anything else, I appreciate it if you'd give me a call." He stands up to leave.

Mrs. Griffith says nervously, "You think he did it, don't you. You think he was working with the Fitzpatricks and was involved with that woman's murder."

"We're working under the assumption that he performed her plastic surgery. I don't know what his connection is with her murder, but it doesn't help that he ran. If you hear from him, or if you think of a way to contact him, urge him to turn himself in."

Sat. 3/21/09 afternoon: Residential area, Rio Linda, CA

Kavner is following the Saturn at a discreet distance when a dirty white paneled van suddenly pulls out in front of him. He hits the brakes to avoid hitting the van, which slows down and blocks him from passing. He asks the other guard, "Hey, Harris, can you see...is Keith still up ahead?"

Harris cranes his neck out the window. "Yeah. I see him. What's with this guy?"

The truck puts on its left turn signal and slows to a stop, then turns off the signal and proceeds slowly, applying the brakes every few houses. Kavner says, "I guess he's lost. Call Keith, tell him what's going on." He swerves a little, trying to see ahead of the van.

Harris places the call. "Yeah, some guy's between us....I don't think so. I think it's just a local yahoo...Okay, I got it." He hangs up and tells Kavner, "They're following a bus route. They're going to keep heading west on O Street, then a right on Front Street, and a left on Q Street."

Kavner repeats, "Right on Front, left on Q. Write down this guy's plate, just in case."

Finally the van stops and, after waiting for oncoming traffic, makes a left turn into a driveway. Kavner hits the gas and tries to catch up to Keith.

A half-mile further down the road, with the Saturn still out of sight, he sees flashing lights in his rear view mirror. He slows the car and asks the other guard, "Was I speeding?"

"Maybe. Better pull over."

Kavner says, "Call Keith." He pulls over to the side of the road and shuts off the car. As Harris hits redial on the cell phone, Kavner reaches into the glove compartment for the registration and insurance cards and puts them on the seat ready to hand over. He triggers the switch to lower the window.

They hear a loud whoop and a voice over a loudspeaker. "Put the phone down, and keep your hands where we can see them." Kavner watches in the mirror; two cops approach the car quickly, unsnapping their holsters and putting their hands on their weapons. He glances at his partner, who sets down the phone; they both put their hands up and wait.

The two cops take a position on either side of the car. "Sir. Open the car door and step out of the vehicle."

"Officer, I'm armed," Kavner replies. "Shoulder holster. I have a concealed weapon permit in my wallet."

The officer draws his weapon and trains it on Kavner. "Slowly take out your weapon with two fingers and hand it to me butt-first. No sudden movements," the officer instructs, holding his left palm out while keeping his revolver steadily pointed at Kavner's head. "Your friend armed too?"

"Yes, sir," Harris replies. He and Kavner carefully hand their guns to the officers.

The two cops open the car doors. The first officer instructs them, "Please exit the vehicle. Keep your hands where we can see them and your mouths shut." They are thrown against the car and thoroughly searched; both men have worked in private security long enough to know better than to protest. The cop says, "Lay down on the ground, face down, hands laced behind your head." Kavner and Harris comply; the two cops pull their hands down, cuffing their wrists behind their back, and haul them up to their feet.

"Officer," Kavner says. "What's the charge?"

"Vehicular homicide and leaving the scene of an accident with injuries. You killed three kids when you ran that red light last night, you fuck."

As they are escorted to the police cruiser, Kavner protests, "Officer, we were in Los Angeles until this morning. This is a mistake. We can prove it."

"Tell it to the judge. The eyewitness told us the make, model, and license plate of your car and described you perfectly." The officer opens the back door of the police car and pushes Kavner into the backseat. "Watch your head."

"I need to call my boss. We're working private security. Check our ID. You'll see that we're employed by the Nick Harris Agency in San Diego."

"You'll get your phone call down at the station," the cop advises. He slams the door and gets into the front seat.

His partner joins them with a bag containing their personal belongings from the car. The second cop asks, "Dispatch called for a tow truck?" and the first cop nods in response.

Kavner protests, "Look at the car. It hasn't been in an accident."

The cop ignores him. He begins to Mirandize the two men. "You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney present during questioning. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be appointed for you. Do you understand these rights?"

Kavner exchanges a glance with the other guard. This is very bad.

The first cop takes the radio handset and triggers it. "This is Unit 10. Suspects are in custody. Do you have an ETA on the— Hold on." A tow truck pulls up, and the cop continues, "Never mind. Tow truck's here. We'll head down to the station."

The tow truck driver leans out the window. "Dispatcher said you had a car going to the impound lot?"

The officer replies, "Yeah. That was fast."

"Oh, we were in the neighborhood." He hops out of the cab and passes a clipboard to the officer. "Sign here, and here."

After the patrol car leaves, the tow truck driver turns to the man in the passenger seat, who gives him a thousand dollars cash and jumps out to take possession of the car.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••
VERONICA MARS
10:00PM SHO ch: 340 60min 2009 TV-MA
Momentum
Veronica, Logan, and Keith finds Hannah's
employer; a break in the Slasher case;
Clemmons tries to jog his memory.
Veronica: Kristen Bell. Logan: Jason Dohring.
Keith: Enrico Colantoni. Eli: Francis Capra.
Wallace: Percy Daggs III. Clemmons: Duane
Daniels. Mel: George Gerdes. Police Chief:
Denis Arndt. DA Denning: Gregory Itzin.
•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED TWENTY-NINE: "MOMENTUM"

Sat. 3/21/09 afternoon: Commercial area, Rio Linda, CA

On Q Street, they find an area with a few stores. Keith directs Logan to pull over and park. They show the picture Mrs. Blake had picked out to a few disinterested shopkeepers who deny ever having seen Hannah. They get back in the car and in a few blocks find a diner, 'Mel's: Good Food Fast'. "Looks promising," Keith comments. They walk into the diner and take seats at the counter. The only other customers are a man finishing a piece of pie at the end of the counter and a woman seated by herself in a booth eating a hamburger.

A man wearing an apron emerges through a swinging door leading to the kitchen. He wipes the counter and hands them three menus. "What can I do you for? Coffee all around?"

"Sounds good," Keith replies.

"Just passing through?" the man asks as he sets up three cups and saucers and begins pouring.

"We're looking for someone. We're wondering if you've seen her." Keith pushes the photo of Hannah with dark brown hair across the counter.

The man looks startled. Evasively, he asks, "What business is it of yours?"

"We're private detectives from Neptune, California. So you know this young woman? I believe she was using the name Meredith here in Rio Linda," Keith replies.

"I don't want any trouble," the man says, his face pale and nervous.

Veronica chimes in, "We're not going to cause you any trouble. We're just looking for information."

Suddenly suspicious, the man asks, "Do you have identification? How do I know who you are?"

Keith and Veronica take out their wallets and show him their PI licenses. The man stares at them for a long minute. He nods toward Logan. "Who's he? He looks familiar."

"A friend, helping us out," Veronica replies. "We're not here to make trouble for you." She hands him a copy of the news report on Hannah's death. "Meredith's real name was Hannah Griffith, and she was killed in Los Angeles on January 17."

"I don't know anything about that," the man protests, looking at the garish headline, 'Serial Killer Strikes Again'.

"I'm guessing Meredith was working here," Keith surmises. "Probably under the table, from the way you're reacting."

The man flushes. "I told you, I don't know anything. I think you should leave."

"Are you Mel?" Keith asks, pointing at the diner's logo posted above the coffee maker. "Mel, if I have to, I'll get in touch with the Labor Department and the IRS." He cranes his neck and looks toward the kitchen, from which the sound of clattering dishes and running water can be heard. "I'm wondering if your dishwasher has all the documents the INS requires."

"All right, all right," he answers quickly. "Yeah, my name's Mel. I was trying to help her out."

"Okay, you were trying to help Meredith," Keith says leadingly. "What last name was she using?"

"Grey. Meredith Grey. I'm sure it was a fake name. She had a driver's license, but a child could see it was fake. I told you, I was trying to help her out. She seemed like she was in trouble."

Keith says soothingly, "I'm sure you had only good intentions."

"My friend Katey brought her by and said her niece was staying with her for a while and needed a job. That was about two years ago. I needed counter help, and she seemed like an okay kid, so I tried her out. She did a good job, and I kept her on."

Veronica can't help saying, "You realize that at the time she was only sixteen? Do you have a work permit on file for a minor?"

"She told me she was eighteen," Mel replies indignantly, glaring at her.

"Of course, of course. You can't be responsible if she misled you." Keith glances sternly at Veronica, who mutters 'sorry' under her breath. "I'm sure Meredith was very grateful to have a job."

"You're damn right she was."

Logan clears his throat. "Meredith's, uh, mom is the one who hired us. I know she wants to know what Meredith's life was like while she was living here."

"She didn't talk much. Sometimes you'd catch her staring into space and have to wake her up."

Logan presses, "Did she have friends, boyfriends?"

"No," Mel answers, shaking his head. "She kept to herself, didn't talk about herself at all." He sighs and looks away morosely. He turns back and admits, "I was pretty sure she was a runaway. I figured it must have been pretty bad where she came from."

"It was," Veronica replies.

"You know, she did seem happier around the middle of December. I asked her about it, and she said 'my birthday's coming up' and smiled."

"She probably turned eighteen," Veronica remarks. "The school couldn't take her after that."

"What? What school?" Mel asks.

"She'd been sent to a disciplinary school—it was an abusive situation—and she ran away," Keith explains. "The school is ruthless about pursuing runaways as long as they're minors. What about the woman who claimed to be her aunt, Katey Shaffer? Do you know where she is?"

"They moved in November because there were too many drug dealers in the neighborhood where they'd been living, and Meredith never told me her new address. I got the impression it was an apartment; might have been off Elverta Road—there's some apartments over there. She might have complained a couple times about having to take two buses to get here, so maybe you could find it that way? There's not too many apartment buildings here in Rio Linda. And I haven't seen Katey since..." Mel thinks. "I guess I haven't seen her since last summer. My wife used to drag me to these crystal meditations, some nonsense like that, and that's where we met Katey. Now my wife went back to the church," he rolls his eyes, "and she don't go for that stuff anymore."

"You didn't even have a phone number for Meredith?" Keith asks.

"Sure, she had a cell phone. I can give the number to you. It's in the back," Mel says, pointing with his thumb. "I'll get it for you."

He disappears through the swinging door. Veronica turns to her dad. "You believe him?"

"Yeah, it's what we figured. A cash job, with an employer too lazy to bother with ID or permits who probably saved a little money by paying her less than the minimum wage."

"What a sleazeball," Veronica comments.

"The alternative to a sleazeball employer probably would have been a trip back to Briar Hill," Keith points out.

"I know. But waitressing is a hard job if you're not even making minimum wage."

Mel returns with a slip of paper. "I don't think it's in service anymore. When she didn't show up for work, I called and the message said the call could not be completed as dialed."

"When was this?"

"It was a Sunday, early in January. She'd worked the day before and didn't say anything about not coming in. I tried calling all week and finally gave up after four or five days...I guess I figured something spooked her, and she ran again."

"Can you try to remember which Sunday specifically?" Keith asks. "She was killed on the seventeenth, so that would have been...let's see...the fourth or the eleventh that she didn't show up."

Mel turns to a calendar on the wall and flips back to January. He ponders for a minute before turning back. "Had to have been the eleventh, the day that she didn't show. Yeah, that seems right."

"Anything happen just before that?" Keith queries. "Was she upset? Any mysterious phone calls...anything out of the ordinary?"

"Now that you mention it...there was a guy the night before. He asked me what her name was and if she had a boyfriend. I told him he was barking up the wrong tree. Customers used to hit on her—she was cute, a little too skinny for me, but some like 'em that way—but she would just smile, turn 'em down flat, and get back to work."

"I don't suppose you remember what this guy looked like," Veronica says.

"Geez. Two months ago." Mel ponders. "I don't know, maybe dark brown hair, starting to go bald, just a little thin on top. Mid-forties. Average lookin'."

"How tall?" Keith asks, writing the description down.

"'Bout like him, I guess," Mel says, nodding at Logan.

"Six foot," Logan notes.

Mel protests, "You know, it was just a guy checking out a pretty girl. I'm sure he didn't have anything—" He sees their expressions and clamps his mouth shut.

Veronica says, "Take a look at these photos; see if any of them are him." She hands him the photos of the Fitzpatricks and their cronies and the Neptune Sheriff's Department, even though the description doesn't particularly match any of their suspects.

"No...no..." Mel mumbles as he looks. At the end, he says, "None of these guys."

"Any chance he paid with a credit card?" Keith asks.

Mel points at the sign above the cash register. 'No checks, no credit cards.' "Sorry. People are always trying to rip you off. Cash is a lot safer."

"I bet," Veronica comments. No sales tax, no employee benefits or payroll taxes, no bothersome INS or OSHA visits.

Nervously, Mel asks, "You're not going to tell the police, are you?"

"You might want to make sure all your current employees are documented, Mel," Keith advises. "I think it's possible that the FBI might want to talk to you about the man you saw on January 10. In the meantime, I think you shouldn't talk to anyone about this. If you think of anything else, I'd like you to give me a call." He hands Mel a business card, and they get up to leave.

They pass by a blackboard advertising the daily specials. In pink and green chalk, today's lunch special is listed as 'Roast Beef Sandwich, piled high, with horseradish and mayo on a toasted whole wheat bun with lettuce and tomato. More roast beef than you can handle in a single meal.' Veronica stops short and rereads the board. She grasps Keith's sleeve. "What was that email address? The one that Father Patrick contacted when Liam was arrested. 'Roastbeefman' at yahoo, right?"

Keith nods. "What is it, Veronica?"

"I'm an idiot, that's what. There was a joke at Quantico about an agent who always flashed his badge and asked for 'more roast beef' at a New York deli. If you flashed your credentials at someone, an agent would say 'I roast beefed 'em.' Buspeak, you know...bureau lingo." Veronica's face is flushed with excitement.

Keith replies, "It's more confirmation that it's an FBI agent working with the Fitzpatricks."

They walk out of the diner. Logan turns to her with a worried expression and says, "Veronica, this whole town gives me the creeps. I think we should go back to Neptune and dump all this in Leo's lap. Let him find the FBI agent who's working with the Fitzpatricks."

"You trust Leo now?" Veronica asks incredulously.

Logan shrugs. "What choice do we have? He's already trying to round up the Fitzpatricks. He's leaving us alone at least."

Veronica says intensely, "I think we should tell Mike about the email address. Maybe he can trace it."

"You know he's still suspended," Keith comments.

"He said his buddies were helping him. Dad, I think we should try to get Mike to come interview Mel as soon as possible. He can put Mel in protective custody. Mel's our only real witness."

They get in the car and sit silently, all of them reviewing what they learned from Mel and nervously assessing their next step.

"We've accomplished a lot. Maybe it's enough," Keith offers. "We have a witness; we have confirmation that Hannah was living here in Rio Linda. We know the name she was using. We can prove that Hannah wasn't a prostitute in Los Angeles. That's probably enough to get the media interested; let them push to reopen the case."

"Let's talk to Katey Shaffer's old landlord, and then hit those apartments that Mel mentioned on Elverta Road. We can show Hannah's picture around and see if anyone recognizes her," Veronica suggests. "And we still don't know what happened to Katey Shaffer."

"All right. Call Mike; tell him about the email address and see if he'll get someone he trusts to come interview Mel. Give him Hannah's cell phone number; he can pull up her records. Check in with Kavner too," Keith says.

She calls Mike and fills him in on their progress. Mike promises to get back to her after making a few phone calls. Then she dials Kavner. "Must be a bad signal. Only two bars," she comments, scowling at the screen. "It's not going through."

"Try again in a few minutes." Keith adjusts the rear view mirror. "I can't see them behind us." He watches nervously; a short while later, he recognizes the gray Ford Focus a fair distance behind them and relaxes.

Sat. 3/21/09 afternoon: Los Angeles Police Department Media Room, Los Angeles, CA

The Los Angeles Chief of Police steps up to the microphone at the lectern in the front of the room. Flashbulbs pop and shutters click as the chief adjusts the microphone, causing a sharp whine of feedback. Reporters murmur among themselves.

"Good afternoon. With me today is Mitchell Panevic, Assistant Director in Charge of the Los Angeles Bureau of the FBI, Special Agent Morris of the Serial Killer Task Force, and District Attorney Paul Denning. I will make a brief statement, and District Attorney Denning will provide some additional information, and then we'll take your questions. This morning, acting on a tip provided by an eyewitness, the Los Angeles Police Department arrested Andrew Shekar, age 36, a resident of the Altadena section of Los Angeles. Mr. Shekar has been charged with the murders of Catherine Kerr, Theresa Drummond, Lysa Dean, Evangeline Bellemer, Gloria Doyle, Elizabeth Kapp, Mary Alice McDermit, and Linda Lewellen. He remains a suspect in the murder of Hannah Griffith. Our thoughts and prayers remain with the families of the victims. I'm very proud of the diligent efforts of the major crimes unit of the LAPD in cooperation with the FBI to bring this man to justice. District Attorney Denning has a short statement before we take your questions."

The man says firmly, "The District Attorney's office is confident that the evidence against Mr. Shekar will lead to a conviction. Mr. Shekar has a long history of assault and battery, harassment, and stalking charges on his record. He served a one year sentence for attempted kidnapping in 2001. I'll take your questions at this time."

Sat. 3/21/09 afternoon: Neptune High School, Neptune, CA

Clemmons unlocks the front door and leads them down the darkened hallways of Neptune High School. "Weird to be back, right?" Wallace whispers to Weevil.

"Best years of our life, my ass," he replies. "I couldn't wait to get out of here."

"Excuse me, Mr. Navarro?" Clemmons asks.

Wallace quickly says, "Lots of good memories here, Principal Clemmons. Eli especially truly made me feel welcome when I transferred here."

Weevil smothers a laugh. "Yeah, that was the year I volunteered for the spirit committee, too. Go Pirates," he adds. He punctuates his remark by punching Wallace in the arm, just a little too hard.

"Yeah, that was what you were known for, your school spirit," Wallace retorts.

"I thought it was my keen fashion sense," Weevil replies, tugging on his leather jacket.

Clemmons unlocks a door at the end of a long hallway. The room is filled with boxes. "I believe these boxes are what we're looking for," he says, indicates a stack of file storage boxes marked 'Inactive'.

"It would have been between fall 2002 and spring 2006 if Veronica knew this guy," Wallace muses. He pulls the lid off the top box and pulls the first file out. "Hershlag, Natalie."

Clemmons frowns. "Those files are supposed to be in alphabetical order, separated by year." He looks over Wallace's shoulder.

Wallace muses, "1999, Estevez, Carlos Irwin. 1997, Patrick, Tara Leigh. 2004, Bishop, Eric. 2002, Guynes, Demetria. I don't think they're in any order."

Clemmons comments with annoyance, "I assigned Ms. Mars to refile these folders after their contents were jumbled in an accident. Apparently she just put folders in boxes in random order."

Wallace's eyebrows raise high. "Yeah, I think she mentioned that you gave her that assignment to manipulate her into investigating an old incident involving her mother, so that you could secure that promotion you were looking for." When Clemmons glares at him, Wallace rushes to add with a fake smile, "But you know we were all happy that you succeeded Principal Moorehead."

"Whatever. Let's get this show on the road," Weevil says impatiently. He takes another box and opens the lid. "What are we looking for?"

"KC," Wallace muses. "Anybody with the last name starting with 'C' or 'K', between 2002 and 2005. And first initial 'K', I guess. It could be first and middle initials."

About half the files, the ones pertaining to female students, are eliminated quickly. As Weevil and Wallace pull folders that seem even remotely possible, they hand them to Clemmons. After a few minutes, they have gathered a small pile; Clemmons is reading each file carefully. While looking at the second folder, he chuckles, "I remember this student. A real character. I recall one time when he—"

"Oh come the fuck on!" Weevil interrupts impatiently. "Is it the guy?"

Clemmons drops the file onto a nearby cabinet. Coldly, he replies, "Mr. Navarro. I don't appreciate the rough language. This is my day off, and I'm doing you a favor. I was really looking forward to working in my garden today."

"Perhaps you should just read a little faster," Weevil suggests, exasperated. "Then we can get busy spreading some manure for you."

"Shh," Wallace says hastily to Weevil. "Principal Clemmons, we're just nervous about Veronica." He gives Weevil a withering look and pokes him in the side.

"Sorry," Weevil mutters. Under his breath, he tells Wallace, "You touch my ribs again, and I'm going to have to hurt you." To Clemmons, he adds, "Sorry, sir."

Clemmons intones, "If this is so urgent, perhaps the police should be involved."

"Please, Mr. Clemmons. By the time we convince the sheriff to look at these files..." Wallace shrugs suggestively. "Could you live with yourself if Veronica got hurt because you didn't want to look at a few files?"

"All right, Mr. Fennel. I'll continue, but this seems like a wild goose chase. I'm not seeing how this mythical student 'KC' relates to the Fitzpatricks."

"Neither are we. But I've learned to trust Veronica's instincts. I think you have, too," Wallace replies pointedly.

Clemmons nods thoughtfully. "Hand me the next folder."

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••
VERONICA MARS
10:00PM SHO ch: 340 60min 2009 TV-MA
Turn of the Screw
Complications in Rio Linda; KC is identified.
Veronica: Kristen Bell. Logan: Jason Dohring.
Keith: Enrico Colantoni. Eli: Francis Capra.
Wallace: Percy Daggs III. Clemmons: Duane
Daniels. Brian: Scott Elrod. Frank: Stephen
Dorff. Joe: Todd Stashwick.
•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED THIRTY: "TURN OF THE SCREW"

Sat. 3/21/09 afternoon: Residential area, Rio Linda, CA

Keith knocks on the door of a modest ranch home. He notes out of the corner of his eye that Kavner pulls up and parks the Ford Focus a short distance down the block. A young man with long dark hair, wearing an open shirt over a dirty white T-shirt, open the door. "Yeah? How can I help you?"

"Kenneth Sanford? I'm Keith Mars. I left a message earlier today," Keith replies.

"Oh yeah. You're that private investigator who called about the old tenants at my house over on Dorado. You wanted the forwarding address, right? Come on in, I wrote it down for you. I'll get it." Kenneth steps aside and leads them into the house.

Veronica frowns. Why is my spidey-sense tingling? This is too easy.

As they walk into the living room, Keith inquires, "Is it possible we could get into the Dorado house? We think it might be important to help us locate the girl who was living there."

The door slams shut behind them. Veronica whirls around; directly behind her, she sees a man training a gun on them. He says, "Welcome to Rio Linda. Put your hands up."

Keith tries to go for his gun, and the man holding the gun knocks him hard on the head. Keith crumples to the ground as Veronica screams. Logan reacts more slowly and struggles to get his gun out of the holster. Veronica yells, "Logan, no!"

'Kenneth' pulls a gun from his belt and strides over to Logan, putting the barrel of the gun onto Logan's forehead. "Bad idea, dumbfuck." Logan stops moving, with his hand still under his jacket holding the butt of his gun. 'Kenneth' bats Logan's hand away and takes his weapon, putting it into the waistband of his jeans. He says to the other man, "Get the old guy's gun." To Logan, he sneers, "Go ahead, make my day. Give me a reason to shoot you." Logan puts his hands in the air slowly; his face is flushed with anger, and he breathes heavily.

"Just do what they say, Logan," Veronica says quietly. Damn it. Damn it! As she tries to think furiously, she protests, "You don't have to hurt us. We'll cooperate."

'Kenneth' stoops to the floor and disarms Keith, who is lying unconscious on the floor. He stands up and kicks Keith's leg; Keith doesn't react, and 'Kenneth' looks satisfied. He says, "Frank, check the girl. Make sure that's really a sling on her arm. I heard she's tricky. Thinks she's smart." In a singsong tone, he chants, "Veronica Ma-ars. Girl detective." He cackles loudly at his joke.

Frank moves to Veronica, who is trying her best to look nonthreatening. Frank steps behind her and puts his gun to her head. "Don't move an inch, girlie." He roughly pulls the sling off her shoulder and discards it; Veronica tries not to react, but she winces in pain when Frank pokes her in shoulder.

"Stop it, you're hurting her," Logan snaps.

'Kenneth' pushes the gun hard into his forehead, forcing Logan's head backward. "Shut up."

"Please don't hurt her," Logan says quietly, breathing hard with the effort not to react physically.

Frank ignores him. "Yo, Brian. Where's the duct tape?"

Brian, also known as 'Kenneth', nods toward the counter dividing the dining room from the kitchen. Frank grabs Veronica left shoulder and propels her into the dining room in front of him.

They hear a knock on the front door. Brian calls out, "Joe?"

"Yeah."

"Get in here."

Joe walks in and shuts the door carefully behind him. "Situation's under control?"

Brian replies, "Yeah. Call the tow truck; get the security guards' car back to the impound lot right away before the cops realize it's missing."

Veronica asks recklessly, "What did you do to Kavner and Harris?"

"Shut up," Frank says, shoving her hard toward the counter. She stumbles and catches herself on a chair; the pain shoots down her right arm, and it feels like her shoulder is on fire. She pulls her right arm tight into her torso to try to calm the throbbing in her shoulder.

Brian is still talking. "Take their Saturn, dump it out by the airfield. You know where I'm talking about. We've got to get out of here right away, before Sanford comes home. We'll be in touch."

The man nods and says, "You got it," as he walks out the front door.

Frank says to Veronica, "Put your hands behind your back."

She turns white, knowing what that will do to her shoulder. The pain has ratcheted up with every second of their rough treatment. "I can't. Please."

Logan interjects, "She can't put her arm behind her back. Please don't make her do that. Please don't!"

Brian knees him in the groin, and Logan bends over in agony. "I told you to shut up." To Frank, he says, "I wish we didn't have to keep these assholes alive."

"It's only temporary," Frank observes. He tears loose a long strip of duct tape. Frank pulls Veronica's arm viciously behind her back, and she passes out from the pain, collapsing onto the floor in a heap.

Sat. 3/21/09 afternoon: Neptune High School, Neptune, CA

Wallace opens another file box; the first file he looks at makes him gasp aloud.

Weevil asks, "What?"

Wallace walks over to Clemmons and pushes the file into his hands. "Is this the guy?"

Mr. Clemmons says with irritation, "Mr. Fennel...patience is a virtue—" He looks at Wallace's face and stops talking. He reads silently for a few seconds. "Yes, I believe this is the boy I was thinking of. He withdrew from the school because he was sentenced to a juvenile facility his sophomore year for car theft. After he was released nine months later, he applied for the automotive mechanics program, and I authorized it."

"What's the name?" Weevil asks impatiently.

"Kevin Carney," Wallace answers. "He voted for Wanda Varner in the student council election; I remember Veronica looked for him to ask him about his vote. So that's how she knew him."

Mr. Clemmons frowns. "It looks like Kevin dropped out of the automotive program the day he turned eighteen, and he never got his diploma. It's such a shame."

"What??" Wallace asks, already thinking about calling Veronica with the news. "What's a shame?"

"Well, his uncle tried to take Kevin under his wing. The uncle turned his own life around after a very shaky start...really made something of himself. I remember him well; he was a student here when I first started teaching, and I think he spent most of his senior year in the principal's office. But he managed to finish college, worked hard and got an advanced degree, and now he's an FBI agent," Mr. Clemmons continues. "I believe the uncle was trying to intervene on his nephew's behalf, offering to take custody even."

"I got to call Veronica," Wallace says quickly. He pulls out his cell phone and walks to a corner of the storage room. He paces nervously with the phone pressed to his ear.

"What about this mess?" Clemmons asks.

"I got it," Weevil replies. He begins to pack up the files without paying attention to alphabetizing.

"Can you at least make an effort to put them back in order?" Clemmons says sternly.

"They're already completely out of order," Weevil protests. "We'd be here all day." He continues without changing his modus operandi, and Clemmons purses his lips in irritation.

Wallace walks back over, saying, "I don't like it. She's not picking up. She said they wouldn't turn the phone off."

"What's going on?" Clemmons asks.

"I left a message, told her to call me right away," Wallace replies, distractedly. "Mr. Clemmons, I'm sorry to do this to you. I think we're going to have to owe you one for this. Come on, Weevil. I want to take this to the sheriff." He picks up Carney's folder. "Can we take this? We'll bring it back after the sheriff makes copies."

"You're going to take this to D'Amato? I thought he was—" Weevil breaks off suddenly and looks at Clemmons.

Wallace answers, "We don't have a choice. We're going to have to trust him." He pitches in to help Weevil finish putting away the rest of the folders as quickly as possible. Clemmons is about to protest, but something in Wallace's expression makes him keep quiet. They finish clearing up, and Wallace and Weevil hurry out of the school.

Clemmons, more leisurely, follows them out and locks the front door. As the two young men get into their car, he calls out, "Good luck, gentlemen."

Wallace starts up the car before Weevil is completely seated in the passenger side and peels out of the parking lot with the tires screeching.

Sat. 3/21/09 afternoon: Somewhere in the United States

VERONICA

She remembers scrabbling frantically at the smooth plastic, seeking purchase on something, anything, that would make it give way. Her nail snagged on something, and she had desperately worked at it until that nail ripped off. She remembers being surprised that it didn't hurt at the time; but even more clearly she recalls imagining that the air was disappearing with every breath and what was a fingernail, after all, compared with suffocation. She had pounded ineffectually on the door—why won't it budge?? While she struggled and pushed against the immovable slippery surfaces, he had been taunting her: 'Veronicaaah...where are the tapes? Where are the tapes?! Veronicaaah.' Tell him what he wants, tell him where you put the tapes, he'll...no. He won't.

All of a sudden she had smelled the pungent, fierce odor of gasoline and she knew what he had done. She heard the struggle but didn't know what was happening—it seemed to go on forever, and she imagined that every breath was the last bit of remaining oxygen—then her straining ears heard the soft metallic click, a scuttling sound, and a sudden whoosh. And then...heat.

She had imagined the freezer heating to an unbearable degree and then her body melting into the plastic as she screamed, trying frantically to lift herself from the inexorably heating and disintegrating wall of the freezer that was threatening to burn into her skin. She had sensed with an irrational conviction that the toxic chemicals in the freezer were certainly burning and releasing noxious gases, and she remembered praying that whatever fumes there were would have the good grace to render her unconscious before she could feel the pain of the flames. And she pictured Aaron watching implacably as she was immolated....

She remembers the gravel of the rooftop digging into her flesh as she scrambled away from Beav- Cassidy. Her nerve endings were tingling with the aftershocks of the taser wielded so callously by her tormenter, and her thoughts were jumbled together in chaos: can't think, hurts, can't move, get away from him now, HURTS, I still can't believe it's Beaver...Beaver?! She fell forward, hard, onto the roof, wondering how she could have been so wrong about everything.

She had looked toward the edge as he urged her to jump. She had pictured herself teetering helplessly, the ground so dizzyingly far down, with nothing to stop her descent except the cold hard pavement far below, and then grasping futilely at a terrace as it screamed by her head. Her head swam with the frantic calculations and recalculations of the probability of surviving a gunshot versus the certainty of ending up a shapeless bag of roadkill on the sidewalk. And then, the cold metal feel of the gun when she got hold of it—not the first gun she had ever held, but the first time she had held one as an instrument of death, almost...almost the instrument of her own death. It felt like evil—alive and seductive. Just point the gun at him and pull....

She remembers lying in the bed, in the girl's pink quilted jacket, trying not to tremble as Mercer talked. Then she was fighting with him, the hard floor coming up to meet her head, and the sound of it echoing in her skull, her nose suddenly oozing blood and a sharp pain aching above her eye. She remembers fighting him for her life, scratching his face—trying to rip it right off his skull if it were possible—and then the sickening, sticky feel of bloody, gouged tissue under her fingernails as Mercer's fist hit her face, full force. She had managed to get away and she ran, I'm not fast enough, he's going to.... The blood and snot blotted her vision as she scrambled up the stairs, almost slipping, and pounded so hard on Wallace's door that the bruises on her hands took weeks to heal.

Then, in Moe's room, she had felt the effects of the adulterated tea, so stupid, so stupid: she had looked around frantically and hid pathetically in the closet, calling her dad for help, pick up, pick up, pick up. Everything was so fuzzy—her brain completely refusing to work—but she knew they'd hold her down and rape her before....

She can't believe it's possible to hurt this much without passing out. Her wrists, bound with duct tape behind her back, are pulling and tearing that fragile connection in her shoulder that was already stretched beyond the breaking point. Klein's face floats, disembodied, above her, bellowing, 'We don't do anything when we're drunk that we don't wish we could do when we're sober...Maybe you thought it would feel even better if you had sex with someone...You don't want to admit that you're a slut...Once again, you're refusing to take responsibility for your actions.' He grabs her face and brandishes a lipstick as she pulls away and shakes her head, 'no.' A lipstick...Klein had a lipstick?...what is he doing...what? And then she thinks she remembers seeing Logan's appalled face, but she's not sure it was really him, because more than anything she had thought she'd gone insane, and he was furious with her anyways. Beaver and Aaron and Mercer were there laughing at her—it couldn't be true, but they were there—cackling as she protested and fought against Klein and the fucking bitches at the school, and above all she knew she deserved to be there: somehow they'd all found out that she was a raging black hole and no one loved her....

Her eyes are leaking, with the tears running down her face onto the duct tape plastered over her lips; she is shaking with fear and pain, her breath snorting and irregular. When the van hits a pothole, she screams in agony into the duct tape gag as she helplessly rolls onto her shoulder. She knows it's really over this time, and because she fucked up, her dad and Logan are going to die too. There's no cavalry to come, this time. There's no rape whistle, no cell phone to dial, no one expecting her arrival to jump in their car and come find her. Kavner and the other guard are probably already dead because of her.

The only question is...why are they still alive?

She feels a movement beside her; and then...fingers tentatively grasping and fumbling against her back. She sucks in a breath as Logan's fingers find hers, the contact hesitant and then more assured. He grips her hand with thumb and forefinger: you're not insane, Logan is here, Dad is here. You're not dead yet.

Use the pain. Use the fear. Turn it into something else...fuel.

Fuck you...I'm not going to be a pretty corpse. You're going to have to fight me.

He fumbles at her wrists, and suddenly she realizes. He is trying desperately to work the duct tape loose. It hurts like hell, but she pulls her arms as far out as possible to try to help him. He picks at the tape relentlessly while she struggles to hold the position despite her throbbing shoulder.

I have to rest, she thinks, as the emotions and the physical sensations threaten to overwhelm her again. She relaxes her arms for a few seconds. She feels him stop suddenly, and she tries to grab his fingers to reassure him. Veronica takes a deep breath through her nose and tries to hold her arms out again.

She loses track of time; it feels like he's been picking at the tape for hours, but she knows it has probably just been a few minutes...or has it? At one point, she dozes off in exhaustion and wakes up with a start, wondering how long she slept. Without warning, she is jostled heavily, and she whimpers into the duct tape gag. But...she realizes Logan's movements have changed, pulling now rather than scraping his fingernails. She concentrates hard and thinks he's worked a corner of the duct tape loose.

She tries to pull in the opposite direction from his movements, and they are rewarded: she faintly hears the soft rrripp of the tape being pulled off. From the front of the van, the men's voices can be heard, laughing coarsely as they listen to heavy metal on the van's radio. She smiles grimly: it was a mistake to leave them alone in the back.

Logan is persistent; his movements are frenzied now that he's made some real progress. She ignores the screaming pain of her shoulder and helps as much as possible. All of a sudden her hands are free; she allows her arms to relax forward, and she just breathes for a moment at the abrupt reduction in her overall pain.

Then the van slows down. She pays attention; they lurch from side-to-side as the van makes a turn. She hears the two men, Brian and Frank, talking; it sounds like they are discussing the route.

Logan kicks her hard to get her attention, and she struggles to roll over. In the darkened van, she can just barely make out his face. He motions repetitively with his jaw, and she understands. With her left hand, she pulls a corner of the duct tape loose from his mouth.

He leans into her ear and whispers, "I have to put the tape back on your wrists. We're stopping. We don't have time to get loose."

She knows he's right, but still she shakes her head furiously, no, no, I can't, don't make me. She can't bear the thought of drawing her arms back into that position again, and she begins to cry again, her whole body quaking at the thought of resuming that position.

"Veronica, you have to. You can do this. I'm going to try to do it so you can get out again when there's an opportunity. You can do this, Veronica. You gotta make them believe that you're not a threat; make them think you're hurt and beaten, and then...when you have a chance, you're going to take it and save us. Turn back over and put your arms behind your back, Veronica. Please. I know you can do this. Put my gag back on and turn over."

Veronica pushes the duct tape onto his mouth again. She can see his eyes burning with determination. She turns back over, trembling, and pulls her arms behind her. He rolls over and positions his hands at hers; he fumbles with her wrists as the van turns two more times. There's no way that the duct tape is as tight as it was before, but her shoulder still hurts like hell. The van slows to a stop; the driver puts the van into 'park' with a lurch, and the two men walk around to the back of the van just as Logan finishes smoothing the duct tape over her wrists. She runs her fingers over the tape; she has no idea what it looks like, but it feels like the tape only wraps around once. She tugs experimentally on the tape, and she decides...maybe. She has to make sure they don't have a reason to look at her bonds.

Sell it, Veronica. Make them think they've beaten you.

And then...take them down. And make them pay.