Title: High Society

Chapter 31: Bodies, Bodies, Everywhere Bodies

Authors: Rabid Raccoons

Disclaimer: See Chapter 1

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When Don entered the bullpen the next morning, he could tell that something was wrong.

The atmosphere was subdued, and there was an underlying tension. His heartbeat quickened, and he quickly became both terrified and convinced that someone had found Charlie; more specifically, Charlie's body.

David and Colby were already at Colby's desk when Don rounded the corner, and his fear increased when he saw them talking quietly. "What is it?" he asked, approaching before he even stopped at his own desk. "Why didn't someone call?"

Both agents looked up to meet his eyes, and Don's knees nearly buckled at the sorrow and sympathy he recognized in the expressions. "Oh, God," he mumbled.

David took a quick step toward him, grabbing his forearm, as Colby hurried from behind his desk. "Dude, it's not Charlie," Colby informed him perceptively. He stopped in front of Don and let his own hand hover, wondering if he should grab his Team Leader's other arm. "It's not Charlie," he repeated, his voice a little lower this time.

Don sagged in relief, glad of David's grip and reaching out to further steady himself by propping a hand against the wall. "What's wrong, then?" he finally managed to ask after swallowing thickly.

David cautiously released Don's arm, letting his hand fall to his side. "Agent Timmons," he shared quietly.

Don's brow furrowed. David's tone, the demeanor of the entire office, made it perfectly clear that Jack Timmons had been compromised. Timmons was a "floater"; assigned wherever he was needed to fill in the cracks during injuries and vacations -- he was a man without a team. Right now he was assigned to general administrative support – he had helped out a lot during the interview of Resin, Don remembered – and as clearly as he could recollect, was not serving on any field team at the moment. "How did he end up in the field?" he asked.

Colby shook his head sorrowfully. "It wasn't duty-related," he informed Don. "Traffic accident late last night. Looks like he ran a red light – an SUV plowed into the driver's side, and a city bus into the passenger."

Don winced, and David took over the story. "Blood tests aren't in yet, but LAPD found an empty bottle in the vehicle. Looks like he was drinking and driving."

"Aw, geez." Don shook his head. "I thought he was doing pretty well, these last couple of years. He told me he was going to AA…"

Colby shrugged. "Yeah, nobody saw this coming, man." He shivered, as if to shake off the specter of Timmons' death. "What's up today?" he asked, changing the subject.

Don didn't have to be asked twice. "You two go out to Morrison's and bring Ramon back here." He held up his hand when David started to question him. "I know the bartender and the girl are backing up his alibi." His eyes narrowed. "He doesn't know that, though. I just want to put the fear of God in him."

Colby snickered. "More like the fear of Eppes," he deadpanned.

Don smiled, but it was not an expression of humor. "Whatever works."

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Charlie had refused to eat for two days.

On the afternoon of the second, J.T. spoke plainly to Markus. Morrison had just visited Charlie, and he made his displeasure known. "I have subsidized you generously over the years," he pouted. "This is the first real favor I have asked."

Markus disagreed – after all, Morrison was always on the guest list – and he frowned as he walked his guest back to the transport van. "What are you complaining about now?" he asked a little tightly.

J.T. pushed. It was dangerous, he knew – Markus could decide Charlie was more trouble than he was worth and dispose of him in an instant – but Morrison was nothing if not a narcissist. "You've allowed him to grow weak," he sulked. "What fun is it to control a shapeless lump of clay?" He made a noise of disgust. "I only needed one guard to hold him down, today."

So Markus had promised that as long as he kept Charlie, he would keep him healthy, and had some soup delivered to the professor that evening. In the morning, a guard assisted him to the main mess hall. At this point, he was needed to support Charlie rather than to subdue him.

He planted Eppes at a table that was nearly empty – it was late, and most of the performers had finished eating, already. Charlie nibbled on some toast and looked around for Star. He did not see the young girl, and decided that she had left already – but he spotted Hyacinth, and Mercury. They had finished their meals and were standing in a queue near the exit. He recognized the hostess from Dreamscape. This morning she was wearing a white lab coat, and was injecting each person with something before he or she was allowed to leave. Charlie shuddered when he saw that she shared a needle amongst several people, constantly inserting it into one of dozens of small vials to reload the syringe when it was empty. She only changed out the needle when it grew dull, apparently.

Charlie knew that he had been drugged at least twice. The first time was probably in his drink at Fantasy; the second was definitely with a needle. It made him sick to his stomach, wondering how many others the needle had been used on first, and he leaned over delicately and began to gag. He had only consumed a small amount of toast, so it was more dry heaves than anything. Still, his performance convinced the guard to escort him back to his room, and he didn't have to join the injection line. Charlie was so relieved he began to fake feeling more ill than he really did.

It must have been a convincing performance. More soup and half a sandwich was brought to his room for lunch, and Charlie began to hope that he would be left alone for the rest of the day. When two guards showed up about half-an-hour later, though, his illusions were quickly shattered. One guard did not speak at all – Charlie had seen him on two other occasions, and had yet to hear a syllable – but the other informed him that he must go to the exercise yard for a while. He was almost kind about it. "The fresh air will strengthen you," he pointed out. "Even if you cannot walk anymore once you get there, just sit in the afternoon sun for a few moments." On the way out to the yard, he continued to speak to Charlie, disturbingly friendly. "You'll be mostly alone. I believe there are one or two injured performers who will join you."

Charlie was indeed exhausted by the time they arrived at the small concrete yard, and he stood weaving at one end, his arms wrapped around his torso tightly, staring at his bare feet. When he heard someone call his name, he looked up, startled.

Star was coming onto the court, her arm in a sling, smiling at him. "Did they give you a name yet, Charlie?" she asked. Behind her an older child, a teenage boy, teetered uncertainly on a pair of crutches.

The guards largely ignored them, and when Star drew closer, Charlie tilted his head toward her sling. "What happened?" he rasped, realizing it was the first time all day he had spoken.

Star grimaced, glancing down at her wounded wing. "There was an accident at rehearsal yesterday. Sometimes the vitamin shots we get at breakfast make us act funny, if the dosage isn't just right…" She looked quickly over her shoulder and then back up at Charlie, letting her voice drop. "Poor Polaris was on the bottom; I think he might have a broken ankle." She wiggled her arm inside the sling and smiled again gamely. "I'll be fine in time for the next performance. Walk around the court with me, Charlie."

Tired as he was, he found that he could not resist the friendly little girl, and Charlie limped beside her, past first one guard, and then the other, before he spoke. "Do they give you…vitamin shots…every morning?"

Star nodded, but frowned. "I'm not old enough, yet. Vitamin shots start at 12." She stomped her little foot. "I wish I could have them sooner. I'll bet they would help me develop, and make me more popular in the Dreamscape rooms." She sighed. "I'm not earning any points at all." Her lower lip stuck out in a pout as she looked up at Charlie. "Even you didn't want me. I remember you, you know." She blinked up at him and her lower lip began to quiver as her eyes filled with moisture. "Why didn't you want me? Did I do something wrong?"

Charlie's head began to spin and he stopped walking. "I've got to sit," he whispered, and he painfully lowered himself to the concrete. He grunted as the pain of sitting made itself known, and the girl tried to help steady him with one hand, her expression concerned. He and Star were about 15 feet from the nearest guard, and he spoke quietly. "It's not normal, Star. Grown men should not want to do those things to you. The ones who do are the bad ones – not you."

Her mouth gaped open a little and she shook her head, "You had a pass," she said, trying to reason why a customer was now living at the ranch – but not performing, and not staying in the dorm with the rest of them.

"It's all wrong, Star – everything they make you do, the shots. I was trying to help stop it, and I got caught. Now they won't let me leave, and they're hurting me."

Suddenly the guard began walking in their direction. "Hey!" he yelled. "This ain't The Dating Game! Keep taking your exercise, Star, or you'll never get back in the show!"

The little girl backed away from Charlie willingly, starting to think that he wasn't nice like she thought at first. He was mean, like Mercury sometimes was, teasing her because she was young, and stupid. "I don't like you!" she announced loudly before flouncing off in the opposite direction – and the guard couldn't stop laughing.

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Don had Ramon delivered to the interrogation room -- and left there. The agent cooled his heels on the other side of the observation glass for almost 45 minutes, just staring at Morrison's employee through the window. Colby and David waited awkwardly with him for a while, exchanging silent glances. After the first 15 minutes they returned to their desks, and went over everything they had one more time. It was difficult to concentrate on the files, and the junior agents took turns wandering back to interrogation to see if Don was ready to take on Ramon. First Colby went; then, David. The third time, three-quarters of an hour after they had brought Ramon in, they went together. Don met them at the door of the observation room. "Granger, you stay in here and watch the interrogation. Sinclair, you're with me." Ordinarily Colby would have protested being left out of the action -- but today, he was just happy something was finally in the works. He stood at the window and crossed his arms over his chest, straddled his feet, and watched Don and David enter the room with Ramon.

The darker man looked up from his seat a little impatiently, and started talking while David and Don were still settling in chairs on the other side of the table. "I understood that this was a voluntary interview," he protested hotly. "I've been waiting here for almost an hour, and I have other commitments!" He stopped short of admitting that he wanted to follow J.T. again, should his employer feel the need to disguise himself as a gardener once more.

Don lifted an eyebrow and gestured to the door. "You're free to leave at any time, Mr. Mendez. I apologize for keeping you waiting. Some things came up."

Ramon scooted his chair back in preparation for standing, but Don's last sentence set off an internal alarm. He looked at the agents a tad suspiciously. "Have you found Dr. Eppes, then?"

David stayed silent, trying to watch both Don and Ramon. "I'm afraid not," Don answered easily. He glanced down at a file he had laid in the middle of the table. "Although we have developed some promising new leads. We have some viable suspects."

David didn't react -- he was following Don's lead here, even if he had no idea where Eppes was going -- but Ramon barely suppressed a flinch. His own eyes darted to the folder and he nervously licked his lips. "I'm sure you've already checked my alibi," he said a little defensively, looking at Don. His gaze skittered to the silent Sinclair and then back to Eppes. "The bartender and Miss Sanders must have backed me up, or I wouldn't be here voluntarily."

Don smiled slowly, like a Cheshire cat, and drummed his fingers on top of the file folder. "That's absolutely correct," he responded mildly.

An expression of distrustful confusion came over Ramon's face, and he sat back in his chair -- which he did not return to its original position at the table. "So...what...how can I be of further assistance?"

David finally entered the conversation, smiling first to set Mendez at ease. He reached into the breast pocket of his jacket and withdrew a small notebook, turning to a blank page, but holding it in such a way that Ramon could not see what he was looking at. "We just need to hear the whole story again, sir. It's been a few days -- maybe you'll remember things a little differently." He smiled again, ingratiatingly. "We often re-interview witnesses. If you would be so kind -- start from before the party, when you picked Charlie up in the limo."

Behind the glass, Colby watched the trio intently, his attention drawn mostly to Ramon. Today's story was remarkable in its consistency. Many of the same words were used -- as if the recitation had been rehearsed. Colby felt himself beginning to find Ramon as hinky as Don obviously did.

He was concentrating so hard on the tableau before him that he started violently when the observation room door swung open. Agent Lange, who was flying a desk while he waited to be cleared for field duty after an appendectomy, laughed at the embarrassed Granger. "Walker from LAPD is on 3271," he chuckled.

Colby eyed the telephone extension near the door and frowned. "Stop sneaking up on people like that," he grumbled, and Lange laughed again. Colby started moving toward the door. "I'll take it in here." Lange nodded and backed away quickly, before Granger got close enough to twist the phone cord around his neck.

Colby let the door swing shut behind him before he lifted the receiver from the hook. "Granger."

"Granger. Gary Walker here."

Colby turned and leaned against the wall so that he could talk and watch the interrogation at the same time. "Yeah, Gary. What's up?"

Walker sighed, and Colby felt his body straighten in response. "I think we got a problem. Watch Commander just called me, and I'm on my way out to a suspected homicide. Real estate broker called it in, and the responding officers made the connection and asked for me. Looks like a professional hit, from what I hear."

Colby closed his eyes. Dear God, had someone found Charlie? What was he going to tell Don? "Who is it?" he croaked.

"Your truck driver," Walker answered, and Colby's eyes flew back open even as he sagged against the wall in relief.

"Bert Resin?" he questioned.

"The one and only," confirmed Walker. "You want to come out to the scene with me?"

"I'll be waiting in front of the building," Granger promised.

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Don held onto his control with gargantuan effort, reminding himself that it wouldn't do Charlie any good if he got himself fired. He even forced himself to grovel. "Please," he ground out. "I'm SAC of the Violent Crimes Division for a reason. Let me follow my gut on this one."

Assistant Director Wright regarded the standing agent from behind his desk. The expression on his face was not unsympathetic – but he stood by his decision. "Agent Eppes, your 'gut' is tied up in knots over this case – for good reason. Someone needs to step back, and think clearly. I'm afraid that's my job. As much as I'd like to have the manpower to grant your request, I just don't. We're spread too thin as it is. Reeves hasn't been replaced yet, Timmons…" He sighed. "I'm sorry, Don. I have to choose between a tail on Morrison and one on this Ramon character. At this point, there's a lot more reason to be suspicious of Morrison." He lifted an eyebrow. "Isn't there?"

Don scowled. "I'm not saying I don't want Morrison tailed," he groused. "I'm saying Ramon sets off my alarms. He's too perfect; the story is too good. There's something in his eyes, whenever somebody mentions Charlie's name; the guy hates my brother."

Wright lowered his gaze for a moment to the open file on his desk. He picked up a pencil with one hand and began to tap the eraser-end on the desk. He nodded his head once, as if making a decision; then closed the file and stood slowly. "Perhaps Lt. Walker can lay his hands on more officers," he suggested, glancing at Don. He wandered to the window a few feet from his desk and looked out on the street far below, turning his back to the agent. "At the very least," he murmured, "the two of you might be able to coordinate some off-duty volunteers, from both agencies. Not that I'm recommending such an action."

The cell at Don's waist vibrated and he almost absently plucked it off, quickly reading a text message. "Colby and Walker are in the bullpen waiting for me now," he shared. "I'll…not bring this matter up, with Lt. Walker."

Wright smiled, his back still turned. "Excellent idea, Eppes."

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End, Chapter 31