Too Late

Thursday, August 15, 3:05 P.M.

"Not to put too fine a point on it," Brenda growled, "but I'd like a warrant sometime before Hell freezes over."

Judge Desvontai of the south-eastern Islander clan Zorantai didn't look up from the file folder of evidence and speculation Brenda and Mewtwo had put together. "If you want a warrant from me, you will put up with my idiosyncrasies. One is actually reading the information you give me. Now hush."

Mewtwo smirked, and Brenda kicked his ankle. Illusionary brown eyes turned purple for a second, just in time for the Judge to actually look up. Desvontai merely scowled, and looked back down at the folder.

After perhaps another five minutes, Desvontai put the folder down, and leaned back in his chair. He folded his hands on his desk, and stared at Brenda. "So," he said. "Mr. Brown has been quite the naughty boy, hasn't he?"

"Oh, yes," Brenda said, and bared her teeth.

"There's not enough for Mr. Brown."

"But there's enough for someone," Mewtwo observed, and smiled when Desvontai looked over at him. "Or you'd tell us to go away and stop wasting your time."

"Nothing as crass as that," the judge said, and smiled. It was not a nice smile. "Anderson. There is enough for interview with Anderson. According to this, he's the most involved, of the survivors." He pulled a piece of paper from a pile on his desk, and scrawled his signature across the bottom. He held it out to Brenda. "Do come back when you have his full confession."

Brenda and Mewtwo shared a look, and then the both of them smiled.

Thursday, August 15, 4:59 P.M.

Mewtwo shuffled papers, keeping his attention on Mr. Jacob Anderson. Brenda had already read the man his rights in the hall, before going to 'check up on the forensic lab' leaving Mewtwo the interview.

Anderson was nervous, but trying not to hide it. He kept twisting the class ring on his right index finger, and glancing from the door, to Mewtwo, and then the one-way mirror, and then the papers Mewtwo was fussing with. The evidence.

Mewtwo and Brenda had worked out their strategy beforehand, while Anderson was being brought in from his lab. Mewtwo would start, and while he was with Anderson, so long as it didn't leave a mark and couldn't be proven with the video evidence that went hand in hand with interviews, he could do whatever he wanted.

Unfortunately, what he wanted was to cause Anderson as much pain and suffering as was physically possible.

When Brenda had enough of waiting, or if he showed signs of going a bit beyond reasonable interrogation techniques, she would enter the room and take over. There wasn't going to be a 'good cop' or a 'bad cop'. There was going to be an 'angry cop' and a 'pissed cop'.

"Did you decide to go into cloning because of your cousin, Mr. Anderson?" Mewtwo asked, examining a piece of paper. "Or because of the potential for fame?"

"What are you talking about?" Anderson asked, leaning back, attention focused solely on the disguised psychic. "How do you know about Bonnie?"

"I notice you don't ask about the cloning," Mewtwo pointed out. Anderson pursed his lips, and the psychic leaned forward a touch. Anderson leaned back. "Which makes me think. Not that the 'why' behind your involvement is really important. It would only be a check mark on our list."

It was cruel, and completely unethical to use his telepathy in such a way. Anderson's mental shields might as well have not been there, and it was child's play- easier, in fact- to nudge pertinent memories to the forefront of the doctor's mind. Memories of little girls, tanks filled with a pale red liquid, of reading about the murders and feeling that clutch of fear. Mewtwo poked at several other memories- information Anderson had read about cloning long before joining David Brown's team of experts.

"You're not the first person to try to play God," Mewtwo said, voice lowering into a dangerous purr. "Merely one of the stupidest. Did you really think you were important enough to protect? Michael Dekker and Elizabeth Taylor weren't. I suppose you heard about what happened to them? What happened to James Mallory and Gwen Thompson?"

Anderson was sweating now, pupils dilated and lips parted as he breathed just a little too fast. "I don't know what you're talking about," he said, stumbling a little over the words.

Anderson was a coward, entirely too focused on protecting himself. Mewtwo didn't even need his telepathy to pick it up.

"No?" he asked, and leaned back in his seat. "Really? Perhaps I should jog your memory?" He sorted through the papers in front of him, and found exactly what he was looking for. Their evidence, circumstantial though it was, of Anderson's involvement. "You realize, of course, that Four will remember you." He nudged the paper over to Anderson's side of the table, and smiled. "I would. If I were her, paying attention to everyone who hurt my sisters, I would memorize their names and faces so I could exact revenge." Now he nudged a crime scene photo of Gwen Thompson's remains across the table.

Anderson looked at the photo, and gagged. Mewtwo leaned back in his seat and folded his hands across his stomach. Silence was just as an effective weapon as silence, so he waited.

Anderson shoved the photo away. Mewtwo exchanged it with the photo of Four, from the hospital cameras. Anderson couldn't seem to look away.

"I didn't have anything to do with this," he said. A lie, of course. Mewtwo smiled, and didn't move, merely kept his eyes focused on the fool's face. Telepathy was impossible to prove, and didn't leave a mark. He continued to prod at the man's mind, managing to find certain nightmares of vengeful clones attacking in the dead of night. Anderson shuddered and whimpered, and looked around the room, unable to focus on any one thing for longer than a second.

"You had a great deal to do with this," he said, and Anderson was staring at him again. Mewtwo continued to smile. "We have the evidence, you know."

"Then why aren't I under arrest?"

"Because we want your boss." Mewtwo lost his smile, and stood up. Slowly, he paced around the table, and stared at the directional mirror. Brenda was somewhere behind the pane of one-way glass, he knew, watching. Waiting for her turn to pounce. "Who bankrolled the project?"

"I don't know."

"I think you do know."

"I- I- no. I don't know. I don't- Mike, we were working together, maybe six years ago. He said he'd come across something. Household name. Him and Liz and James and Gwen. They were going to be in cream, and he offered me a chance. I don't know who had the money." Anderson's hands were shaking, and sweat darkened the collar of his shirt. "Swear to God, I don't know who."

Mewtwo glanced at the one-way glass again, and then returned to his seat. "Let's try this again," he said. "You know, or think you know, who bank rolled the project."

Anderson protested. Mewtwo did his best for the next fifteen minutes, but Anderson held firm that he didn't know the person at the top. Mewtwo glanced at the one-way glass twice in three minutes, and frowned. Brenda, he knew, was just what was needed to tip the scales. He himself was simply not intimidating enough, not in his disguise.

Tempting as it was to drop his illusion and play the furious demon, it would be caught by the cameras, and it simply wasn't worth the trouble.

The interrogation room door opened quietly, and Brenda stepped in. She nodded to Mewtwo, circled around behind Anderson, and moved to stand next to Mewtwo. She smiled, managing to somehow show every single tooth in her head, and placed a plain, brown file folder on the table.

"You got sloppy," she said, still grinning. "Garbage is public property, and you didn't use a shredder. We've got you cold."

"What? You- how dare you!" Anderson jumped to his feet. Brenda lost her smile, tilted her head, and snorted.

"Public property. You're the one who figured letting anyone and everyone know your credit card numbers was a good idea. Oh, and your study recordings. That was a stroke of brilliance."

Mewtwo pulled the file folder over to him, and flipped through it quickly. It was only a small sample, he realized, but enough. More than enough.

"Conspiracy to commit murder," he said, and let the folder fall onto the table, open. Anderson stared at the papers, his skin gone a waxy, pale gray. "First degree. Ten to twenty years in prison. If the jury likes you, that is."

"If they don't, it's twenty to life in a maximum security jail. If you're lucky, you'll get a protector. One who doesn't like to share his playthings." Brenda's eyes were cold and dark, and she leaned forward on the table. Most frightening of all was the pleasant expression she wore. "If you keep up with your little tale of not knowing anything. If you co-operate, we can put in a good word for you."

Anderson's eyes nearly jumped out of his head, he looked up so fast. "You'd make a deal," he said flatly.

Mewtwo felt his fur bristle along his shoulders, but he nodded, once. "You'd be safe," he said. "Which is more than you deserve."

Anderson's fingers tapped out a rhythm on the table, quick and nervous. "You'd put it in writing?" he asked, glancing between Brenda and Mewtwo.

"If your information is worth anything," Brenda said.

Anderson only had to think for five seconds. Then he spilled his guts. Fifteen names in all, recruited by one David Brown, a lab owner and main shareholder in Helix Pharmaceuticals.

Mewtwo's hands curled into fists. Unnoticed by Anderson, at an angle the cameras couldn't pick up, Brenda pressed one hand against his back.

Thursday, August 15, 6:09 P.M.

"We're going to have to call in the Feds," Brenda said, and sat down in Anderson's recently abandoned seat. Anderson had been a waxy gray; Brenda was gray-brown, the closest to sallow she could get, skin dull. She couldn't seem to look up, eyes locked on Anderson's signed statement. "This is too much for two murder cops. We're talking corporate, political... Not to mention at least half of the names are going to be out of the city. Maybe even out of the country."

"We have to be the ones to take him down," Mewtwo said, eyes flickering between purple and blue. "Please."

"It's not about what we want," Brenda said, as gently as possible for her. "It's about what's best. I'll try to pull some strings and get you in on the bust, but I can't promise anything."

"Not you?"

"No, the FBI doesn't like me. Ever since I beat one of their operations to a serial killer. I had two weeks, they had two years. Pissed them off."

Mewtwo smirked, and Brenda tried to smile in response. Her effort utterly failed. She was just too tired. She still had so much to do, and her energy was starting to fail. Her gut was still churning from what they crime scene techs had brought her. More than just the tame reports she'd let Mewtwo see. The worst had been from Dekker and forwarded to Anderson, but still. It'd been bad.

"Look," she said, dragging herself out of her thoughts. "We need to write this up and talk to Desvontai, then the Feds. Then we can hand the whole damn mess to them with a nice little bow, warrant included."

Mewtwo frowned a little at that. Brenda didn't care. Let the Feds deal with the media storm. She was tired, and more than ready to deal with the normal shit. Or maybe take a vacation. She had almost two years worth saved up.

"Alright," he finally said, and stood up. "Shall we go, then?"

Go? Oh, that's right, to Desvontai. Brenda rubbed at her forehead and sighed. "Yeah," she said. "Let's go."

Exhaustion dragged claws down her back and shoved white-hot needles into her bad knee. She couldn't feel the rest of her leg, just her knee, and it sucked. Only force of will kept her from limping, and only long experience kept them safe on the drive from the station to the courthouse. Desvontai had implied that he wouldn't be leaving until after he'd issued them a warrant for David Brown, even if it meant he stayed overnight.

She shouldn't have expected any differently. He was a Southern Islander. They had values, even if she'd never had the chance to learn them.

She parked near the courthouse's front door, and once she got out of her car she just stood there, staring at the building. It was clean, kept that way by a service every week, three times as respectable looking as her own station building, but it didn't have the pulse of life the cop's station house had.

"Detective?"

Mewtwo was beside her, staring down at her. When had he moved? She slammed the door closed and started walking. Everything was on damn automatic, because her brain had decided it'd had enough.

She needed coffee and a meal. Then she could catch her next wind and be ready to close the damn thing down.

There was still a light on in Desvontai's office, and his secretary was still at his desk. Brenda stared without comprehension at the man, at his pale skin and almost round eyes. Why would a haukea be here?

Desvontai stepped out of his office at just that moment, for which Brenda was thankful. She'd been about to ask something unforgivably rude.

The judge made a sound at the back of his throat. "You got a confession," he said.

"Yeah," Brenda replied, and cleared her throat. "Yes. We need a warrant for interview and search." She glanced at the haukea again and gave a mental shrug. Desvontai's lips twitched in something that might have been the start of a smile, and turned to his secretary.

"Paul, could you print off the forms, please? I need to speak with the officers in my office, so five minutes, if you would?"

"Of course, Malei." the secretary, Paul, started typing on his computer. Brenda allowed herself to be led into the judge's office, Mewtwo's hand on her arm the only thing keeping her moving. She sat down in the first chair she saw, and sighed.

"I don't understand," she murmured, and shook her head. No, she didn't care. "Warrant?" she asked, a little of her usual growl scraping her throat.

Desvontai leaned against his desk. "In five minutes. Can you guarantee me this man will go to jail?"

Mewtwo glanced at Brenda, his tail curling around the back of her chair. She wondered if the judge could see through the psychic illusion. She could. "Oh, yes. The FBI will have to be involved, but yes, we can guarantee he'll go to jail. Murder in the first degree, conspiracy to commit murder in the first degree, and whatever else we decide to toss at him."

"The FBI could actually be helpful," Desvontai observed. "They have so much more in the way of resources and man-power. There are laws against cloning, you know. People and politicians keep trying to get them overturned, but no one's succeeded yet."

Brenda smiled. "Are there really?" she asked. "Well, we've got ten good reasons why you shouldn't play god, and eight of them are in the morgue."

The judge nodded, and stared at Brenda. She stared right back.

"Well," he said, and glanced at Mewtwo. "Will the psychic need to worry about anything he did in the interview room? Electronics don't pick up telepathy."

Mewtwo stiffened, but Brenda was tired enough to laugh. "Special camera," she said. "Don't ask me how it works, but psychic tricks are picked up. Can't remember why right now, but it's damned useful, isn't it?"

At that, Mewtwo relaxed and Desvontai grinned. The secretary knocked on the door and handed in the papers, which the judge promptly signed. He gave the papers to Mewtwo, and glanced at Brenda.

"The two of you could use some sleep," Desvontai said. "So could I. Come on, Paul. The day's been long enough."

Brenda nodded, and pushed against the chair arms to lever herself up. Dinner, she thought, and then she could take care of a few nagging details. She'd contact the FBI office after dinner. Tomorrow would be soon enough to take out David Brown.

She didn't protest the hand Mewtwo pressed against her back. She was having enough trouble walking as it was, she didn't dare begrudge the help.

"What do you want to do first?" Mewtwo asked, and opened the car door for her.

"Call the Feds," she said. "Then dinner. Then... I don't know. I'll need to think about that."

Except she did know. She sighed, and nodded at the passenger seat. "Well, let's go then."

The homicide bull pen was quiet, the day shift having gone home and evening and night shift only just starting. Brenda sat down at her desk, and stared at the potted plant Mewtwo had gotten. Bright green leaves, she thought, and frowned. Someone had been watering it. She'd worry about that later. She had some Feds to call.

It took maybe five minutes to find the right number, and another five to end up talking with a living, breathing person. Mewtwo was busy typing up their reports for the end of the day, which meant she was free to growl at the moron on the other end of the line who just didn't seem to understand. Yes, she was a cop. Yes, she was willingly involving the FBI in an investigation. No, she didn't want the fame that'd come with the case. Fame meant reporters and reporters meant cameras and really, she didn't need that sort of hassle. More important, Mewtwo didn't need that sort of hassle.

She finally arranged a meeting with two FBI agents the next day at eleven, and hung up.

"So," she asked, and stretched out her neck. "I'm thinking pizza."

Mewtwo turned in his seat, and tilted his head. "You're tired. We'll eat at your place. I'll teleport us."

"Not that tired," she said. "It's just finally coming to a close, is all. Most cases, it's either done quickly, or it's longer and you can catch your breath. Not like this one, is all."

"We're still eating the pizza at your place."

"Fine," Brenda said. What was the point in arguing?

Thursday, August 15, 8:18 P.M.

Mewtwo had cleaned up and left, leaving Brenda to what he probably thought was sleep. Not yet, she thought, and continued to dig through her desk. It had to be around somewhere. She'd just used the damn thing last week.

Rhonwen was watching her, lips quirked in what had to be a smirk.

"It's not that I'm picky or anything, I just don't want to use the other one," she said. The houndoom snorted. Brenda chose to take it as agreement. "Exactly," she muttered, and went back to pawing through her desk. She managed to find her personal check book, but that was worthless because she didn't want to use her personal one. She wanted to use the other one.

It turned out to be in the second drawer to the left, instead of the right as she'd thought. There were still a good half of the pages left, but she'd only had fifty to start, anyways. It took a moment's thought, but then she remembered the exact title and scrawled out the amount in as neat a hand as she could manage. It was surprisingly neat, considering she couldn't read cursive very well.

Viridian City's Victim's Fund didn't have enough money in its purse. Brenda thought about the amount she'd decided on, and mentally added another zero. That, she thought, should ensure the victims without families had a decent burial. She already knew the first group who'd reap the benefits, too. Cremation, she thought, to erase any DNA, and then... Well, they'd been born together, they'd been sisters. They deserved to be buried together.

Friday, August 16, 9:30 A.M.

Agents Highmore and Edwards were alright, Mewtwo decided, if one accepted that they were hardnosed politicians pretending to be cops. He mentioned as much to Brenda, who smirked, before greeting Highmore and Edwards politely.

The meeting itself went quickly, going over everything the two cops had gotten together. Highmore had been properly impressed, while Edwards had sneered very slightly. The two men had been in for a shock, Mewtwo decided, which Brenda had very happily given them. They'd almost jumped out of their shiny shoes when she'd explained that, because of special circumstances, the Viridian Morgue had the clones' bodies under protective custody and that, as soon as the arrests had begun, the bodies would be documented- and then relocated to an unnamed graveyard.

Edwards had tried to protest; Highmore and Mewtwo had both cut him off.

"They're kids," Highmore said, and scowled at his partner. "We'll have enough evidence from the labs, you want a couple kids too?"

"Islander," Brenda whispered, nodding to Highmore. "Pureblood from... somewhere north, I don't know. They've got an honor code."

Mewtwo arched his eyebrows, and nodded. "A code that means what, exactly?" he asked. "That children deserve a decent burial?"

Brenda smirked. "No, that they won't screw with haukea lives more than necessary. The girls will have a proper burial."

"And how do you know that?" Edwards asked. His cheeks and nose were bright red. "If word gets out where they're buried-"

"Cremation," Brenda said, interrupting the agent. "Besides, they'll be buried with names, all ten of them, and a clan affiliation. An Islander Clan Leader directed some money to the victim's fund, with the instruction that it be used for sensitive cases like this one first."

Highmore tilted his head, the same way Brenda did when thinking, and then nodded. "The Clan Leader has honor, to think of the dead," he said. "We'll respect that. You will take care of the bodies, I understand?"

"Yes," Brenda replied, while Mewtwo was still trying to understand that little interlude. He finally decided it didn't matter, and paid attention to the conversation again.

"We don't want or need a wet behind the ears puppy," Edwards snapped, and glared at Mewtwo. Mewtwo smiled back. So, he was a puppy? That was strange, he'd always thought he was a cat.

"He's good with computers, and he's more than willing to learn. You're taking him with you for the bust," Brenda said.

"We're taking him with us," Highmore said, and stood up. He was three inches shorter than his partner, but Edwards inched backwards all the same. "He knows the information and the evidence better than we do. They put in the work. One of them should see it closed."

Edwards grunted, and nodded. "Fine," he said. "Just stay out of our way."

Mewtwo stood up. He was almost a foot taller than Edwards, and he could not help but smirk. "Try to keep up," he said. "I won't wait for you, if you slow me down."

Highmore spoke before his partner could. "You said ten clones," he said. "Yet I thought Anderson said there were eleven."

"He also said there were only seven, that there were possibly twelve, but certainly no more than five. I don't believe he knew exactly how many there were. They look quite similar, for obvious reasons."

The two agents nodded. Edwards glared at Brenda, who'd remained sitting.

"When's the burial?" he asked.

"Today," Brenda replied. "That's where I'll be. If you need me, Smith has my cell number."

Mewtwo nodded, and the two agents filed out of the conference room. He hesitated before following, wishing he knew what, exactly, he wanted to ask Brenda. She smiled, and waved one hand in his direction.

"You'd better go," she said. "Especially after that pretty speech about them not slowing you down. It'll be fine. Our part's almost over."

"Do you think Four is dead?" Mewtwo asked, going with his second question. "You said all ten of them."

"I think she'll be dead soon, if she isn't already. We'll find her, one way or the other. They weren't born to live in our world, and she knows it. Go."

Mewtwo nodded, and headed after the agents. He turned his mind to the upcoming arrest, and felt himself smile. David Brown wasn't going to know what hit him.

Brenda smiled as Mewtwo left, and stood up after a moment. She had bodies to safeguard, from the morgue to the funeral home. It'd be a quick burial. There wasn't going to be a viewing, and she'd already arranged for the plot and marker. The funerary world could move as fast as the living, when given sufficient reason.

Friday, August 16, 11:09 A.M.

The burial had indeed been quick. The eight boxes of ashes had been placed in the single grave, the priest- of what religion, Brenda couldn't tell- had said a few words, and then she'd been left with an empty hole. She'd asked for the right to shovel the dirt on. She thought she knew what was coming, and it'd be better if she faced it alone. The graveyard's groundkeeper had shrugged and agreed. Less work for him.

There was a comfortable bench just three feet from the grave, looking out over the field bordering the graveyard. It was a peaceful place, she thought. The flowers grew everywhere. It was better than a park, in her opinion.

"You," a little girl said, sounding both accusing and lost. "You took my sisters away. You burnt them up."

Brenda turned in her seat and smiled. "Hello, Four," she said. "Cliché as it sounds, I've been waiting for you."

End Notes

So, ah, I'm not dead. I'm just really, really bad at multitasking. I don't even want to think about how long it's been since I wrote a chapter for Chosen Fate, but hey, look! New chapter! And there's only one chapter and an epilogue left, so hopefully this story will be finished before Hell freezes over. I seriously don't want to think how long ago it's been since I started the story...

You know the drill. Shiny review button, let me know what you think. Or just chew me out for taking so long, whichever you so desire.