Law and Order: Criminal Intent
High Maintenance
Chapter 4
Cow, Maybe Pig
"Where's Goren?" Ross asked as he entered the conference room.
"He's on the phone with Mrs. Letner." Eames cleared a handful of papers and photographs from the table as Ross took a seat next to her.
"Thank you," he said depositing his folders in the empty space. Ross surveyed the display of photos in front of Eames, scrunching his face as each depicted more of the bloody crime scene. "Did forensics come back with any prints?"
"No." Eames shook her head. "So far the only prints they've come across belong to the Hales and their nephew." Ross nodded and opened one of his folders.
"The nephew," he said tapping the papers. "He's thought to be responsible for tricking three young girls into killing three of their male classmates and poisoning people during a church meeting." Eames nodded. "Why weren't you on this case with Goren?" Ross asked.
"I was on desk duty, pregnant with my nephew."
"Right, sorry." Ross cleared his throat. Goren entered the conference room, gently closing the door behind him.
"Connie should be in town Thursday afternoon. Mrs. Letner is going to bring him here after she picks him up from the airport." Goren gathered some of the photos in front of Eames, quietly noting she was rubbing her shoulder again, and started tacking them to the cork board on the wall. Ross stood and moved to Goren's side.
"What do we have for time and cause of death?"
"Rodgers places a preliminary time of death between Sunday afternoon and Monday evening," Eames answered. "Their throats were slit, but not deeply enough for a solid cause of death."
"Autopsy results will be ready tomorrow," Goren added. "Tox screens on Thursday."
"What do you make of all of the blood?" Ross looked to Eames. She sat back in her chair, folded her arms in front of her and offered Goren a smart-ass smile.
"Goren thinks it's cow. Maybe pig."
"I don't want to know how you know that," Ross said turning back to Goren. Goren smiled slightly and titled his head to the side as he regarded Eames.
"I think it's all for, uh, for show," Goren explained. "You know, shock factor. Someone is trying to get our attention and certainly went over the top to do so."
"And you believe this 'someone' to be Connie."
"Yes, Sir."
"And your love note?" Ross continued, pointing to the picture of Goren's name.
"A calling card of sorts. Connie said they'd come at me with knives," he said absently. "Sargent Millward said he was told by Reverend Hale to contact me if anything happened to him or his wife." Goren paused for a moment, switching the positions of two pictures on the cork board. "I think they were afraid of Connie, afraid that he would try to hurt them, too. The Hales wanted to make sure someone who knew about their…past…would be involved."
"Explain this philosophy of Connie's to me." Ross reclaimed his chair, leaning his elbows on the table as he listened.
"Siddhartha," Goren simply said. "In the book, Siddhartha looked for enlightenment in all aspects of life. He tried several ways of life, several jobs, learned about several cultures, but he was never satisfied in his search. In the end, he put together pieces of each life to become enlightened and one with Buddha. Connie is much like Siddhartha, but his…path to enlightenment is…is vicarious. He preyed on the girls, on their need for attention and affection, to experience life. Well, the negative aspects of it anyway."
"According to the people we talked to, Connie was quite the gentleman. He helped several elderly people in the area with household and yard chores. He even tutored some of the younger kids from his uncle's church."
"It was the same with the people Bishop and I interviewed eight years ago. He was a well-respected young man. Laura Koehler, one of the victims from the church poisonings, thought of him like a son."
"So he gives and receives the love and affection, and sits back to watch others play out his malevolence." Ross sighed and rubbed his eyes. "Why didn't the charges against Connie hold up in court?"
"The girls refused to testify against him," Goren replied. "They stayed with their story that they acted on their own with no encouragement from Connie. The jury saw their connection as circumstantial."
"Connie's been going to school in Colorado for what? Almost four years?" Goren and Eames both nodded. "You have no other suspects?"
"We have no other suspects," Eames reaffirmed. "No one had the smallest of a bad word to say about the Hales. And without prints to follow…"
"We need to talk to Connie, find out who he's made friends with. See if he's been in contact with any of the girls since the trial."
"All right." Ross nodded and stood. "It's late. Go home. Start fresh in the morning. I understand your reasoning here, but you're going to need seriously hard evidence to connect Connie to these murders. If it didn't stick the first time, I can guarantee with him being eighteen hundred miles away, it won't stick this time either." Ross collected his folders and left the room.
"He's right, Bobby. We're going to have a hard time pinning this on Connie."
"I know." Goren stared at the picture of the Hales lying on the floor. "There's someone else in play here, Eames, someone who has no relationship with the Hales. Not like the first time." Eames nodded her agreement.
"Three rejected teenage hearts…Makes for good motive. We're looking for someone outside the parish. Maybe a friend from Colorado?"
"Maybe." The two detectives cleaned up their folders and notes, leaving the pictures to hold the room for the next day's work. Goren tucked his stack under his arm and watched Eames pack up.
"Quit staring at me," she uttered not looking at him. Goren snickered quietly.
"Goren thinks it's cow. Maybe pig," he mocked. Eames looked up, smart-ass smile gracing her face once again.
"What? Who the hell knows something like that by the way it smells? Gross." She laughed and left the room. Goren followed, taking a seat at his desk as Eames gathered her purse and coat. "You're sticking around?"
"For a few minutes."
"Okay. See you tomorrow." He waved his good-bye and kept an eye on Eames until she was out of view. Goren was relieved to see she had regained some of her sense of humor. Despite the weariness he saw in her movements, she seemed to be in better spirits. He would stick with her explanation of a 'minor bout of insomnia'.
For now.
What occupied Goren's mind at present was the unconscious attention Eames paid to her shoulder. She reached for it a few times before lunch, denying any meaning behind it, but after their arrival at the farm house, the movement became more frequent. He replayed the nearly picture-perfect memory of the scene on the sidewalk, trying to recall what she said to him.
"I've…" But he couldn't hear the words. Her mouth barely moved with her mumbling, Goren couldn't hope to read her lips. There was something, some emotion that flashed across Eames' face, too quickly for him to classify. She seemed so far away, off in a world about which he knew nothing, when he wrapped his fingers around her small wrist and lead her hand to her side.
Goren shook his head and pushed the thought to the back of his mind. He would have plenty of time in the morning during their return trip to Hoboken to ask Eames about her shoulder. Tonight, he needed to prepare for the second round of interviews. Every new detail needed to be noted just as carefully as the old if he and Eames were going to collar Connie Smith for the Hales' murders. Tonight, he needed to go home and sleep.
He only hoped Eames could do the same.
0-0-0-0
Alex dumped her purse and coat on the couch and made her way to the kitchen. She grabbed the carafe from the coffee maker and poured the remains of the morning's coffee down the sink. Closing her eyes, Alex took a deep breath before filling the pot with water and replacing it in the coffee maker. She reached up, opened the cupboard and pulled out a can of coffee grounds.
"Shit," Alex said shaking the can. The few grounds that whirled in the bottom of the can were not enough to make a cup of coffee, let alone a full pot. She dropped her head remembering the errands she was supposed to run after work. "Looks like errands tomorrow," she spat tossing the can in the garbage.
Making her way down the hallway to her bedroom, Alex thought over her day. Even with a small renewal of energy late in the afternoon, she struggled to keep details from their interviews straight. People from the neighborhood and the parish gathered in the street in front of the Hales' house, eager to speak with the detectives and offer what information they could about their fallen friends. It was a welcomed change to have people voluntarily talking, but with so many well-intended souls, it was overwhelming.
Shuffling through the top dresser drawer, Alex pulled out an old pair of flannel pajama pants and an NYPD t-shirt. She sat heavily on the bed, taking her time in changing since her body didn't want to cooperate. She ran a hand through her hair and scowled as she noticed that the time on the alarm clock read a little after midnight.
"No nightmares tonight," she declared firmly, setting the alarm for seven. Plunking her weary body in the unmade bed, Alex pulled the covers tightly around her body. She felt familiar uneasiness hit her chest. "No nightmares…" she repeated, eyes fluttering closed.
bitch!
she felt the sharp sting of his hand across her face
he lifted her hands above her head
wrapping something painfully tight around her wrists
she tried to make out her dimly lit surroundings
but the fog in her head wouldn't allow her see clearly
she was lost
two voices
she heard two voices
one very familiar
arguing
no!
don't!
the familiar voice pleaded
the other came into view
she watched in slow horror
as he pointed his gun at her head
Alex's eyes snapped open and she immediately thrashed her arms and legs trying to free herself from the constraints of her blankets. Sitting up, she pulled her legs close to her body, resting her head on her knees.
"Oh, God," she whispered between labored breaths. Feeling the fear swarming around her, Alex wrapped her arms protectively around her head. Concentrating on her breathing, she calmed her trembling body and dared a look around. Stepping out of the haze of the nightmare, she realized she was in her bedroom.
"Okay…okay." Alex stretched her legs in front of her and ran her hands over her eyes. The nightmare was starting to fade. She tried to hold on to the images, but they evaporated before she could reach them. Control, she needed control. Lying down, she grabbed the blankets and willed herself to get comfortable, 'it was only a dream' repeating in her head. As the wave of anxiety began to dispel, the alarm sounded an angry, high-pitched buzz.
"Damn it!" Alex screamed, startling out of bed. She reached for the alarm clock, pulled the cord from the outlet and pitched it across the room.