That Radium Glow

Chapter 3

Back at the office, Rogers, Maria Hill, and I winnowed down Stark's guest list some by excluding the women and the more obvious choices, such as people named Rockefeller or Field. Unfortunately there were still a good twenty-five or thirty names remaining. Without more information on our suspect, the dark-haired man who had been seen at the Black Widow with Banner, it would take a lot of time and patience to track down and sift through the remaining men. Certainly too long for one man and one night.

That didn't stop me sitting in my car after supper with a pint of bourbon and staring at the list until my eyes crossed, waiting for a name to jump out and punch me on the nose. None of them did.

I even saw it when I closed my eyes to go to sleep. I didn't mind. It was a nice, peaceful change from jagged rocks and blood-red flowers and mortar shells.

Which, of course, meant the telephone had to ring.

I swore and rolled over and threw an arm over my ear to block the noise until it stopped. It didn't stop. I swore again and sat up, running my hands through my hair while the telephone rang and rang. I reached over and dragged the receiver to my ear.

"Barton," I growled, blinking blearily until I could make out the radium dial of my battered old alarm clock. 3:15 in the morning, if it could be called morning. I muttered a few words under my breath that would have made Gunny blush and fumbled in the dark for a cigarette and lighter with one hand.

"Barton? It's Rogers."

My new partner's voice sounded tinny and artificial over the line. "The Army teach you to read a clock, Cap?" I mumbled around my cigarette. I cradled the receiver between my shoulder and my ear to free my hands to light it.

"The FBI, actually," he retorted, and I managed a sleepy half grin between puffs of tobacco. "They found Banner."

The grin slid off my lips and into the darkness. "What?"

"They found Banner half an hour ago," Rogers explained. There was something in his voice that tipped me; something ominous. "Beat cop on his rounds."

"Alive, I hope?" I asked, groggily dreading the reply. I flipped on my bedside lamp and scrubbed a hand across my face. Stubble scraped my palm.

"Yeah," Rogers said. He hesitated for a moment. "But it's…it's not good, Barton. You better get down here right away."

"It's too late…early…for twenty questions, Rogers," I said sourly. "Spit it out."

"He wasn't alone," Rogers told me. His voice was curiously flat now. "There's a woman, dead. It looks like murder."

My blood ran cold, and I came fully awake. "Jesus," I mumbled. I took a long final drag on my cigarette and stubbed it out. I started to pull on my rumpled clothes, juggling the telephone between shoulders while I dressed. "Where are you?"

"Polk and Dearborn, I think."

I felt my nose wrinkle. It was a seedy part of town, even seedier than the area around the Black Widow, especially this time of night. "I'm leaving now," I told him. "Call Coulson; he'll want to know right away."

We hung up. I quickly bolted a cold cup of yesterday morning's coffee and shrugged on my shoulder holster and overcoat. If Banner had actually murdered someone, it was going to be a jurisdictional nightmare between us and the Chicago cops. I just hoped Coulson still had enough pull with the chief to keep us on the case.

The crime scene was easy to find, surrounded by black-and-whites and lit up with red and white police spotlights. They glittered like gems in the fine mist of rain that had begun about twenty minutes previous. Even before I hit the scene there were people sliding away in upturned collars and pulled-down hats, women in too much rouge and too short skirts scurrying with the mincing steps of overly high heels. The curtains in the windows did not move, though. Another murder. Another swarm of boys in blue. Nothing to write home about in these parts.

Even before I reached the police cordon at the mouth of the alley I could smell the coppery scent of blood in the air. I knew it all too well. A chill raced down my spine and I pulled my overcoat's collar a little closer around my neck.

"Hey, there, pal, you can't come in here," a man in police blue growled at me. Beads of water dripped off his peaked hat. "Crime scene."

It was too early, or too late, to deal with a beat cop with delusions of grandeur. I flipped my badge open and held it up close to his eyes. "FBI, sweetheart. Game, set, match."

"Another goddamn Fed," the cop grumbled, but he let me by. "Chief ain't gonna like this." I grinned at him, just to be a heel, and looked around for Rogers.

Steve Rogers was standing awkwardly near the opposite end of the scene, fidgeting a little in the shadow between two streetlamps. His eyes seemed fixed on a blanket-covered lump illuminated by headlights. Even at this distance, I could see a slick red stain on the pavement. My stomach twisted.

"Agent Rogers," I said aloud as I sidled up beside him. His hat and overcoat glistened with rain, but other than that he was dressed as neatly as he had been in Coulson's office, tie, hat and all. Not a hair out of place. They sure didn't teach us that trick in my unit.

"Barton," Rogers greeted me. He had a peculiar expression. A little sick, even.

I raised an eyebrow at him. Who would have thought Captain America was still squeamish? He really was a rookie. "How many murder scenes have you worked, Rogers?" I asked.

He suddenly looked a lot younger than his years. "This is, uh, the…first." His eyes wandered back to the blanket-covered lump that had been a woman and he swallowed. "I mean, it shouldn't-I've seen…"

I knew what he meant. Blood and carnage and death on the battlefield was one thing; this was something else. "It's different here," I said shortly. "At home."

Rogers glanced at me uncertainly, and I gave him a half smile. He looked so relieved, like a puppy that finally understood a new trick, that I nearly laughed. His shoulders didn't slump, but he relaxed a little.

"That's Talbot," Rogers told me, pointing at a short, irritable looking Chicago man in the trilby and scowl of a lieutenant. "He's in charge. Nelson's the guy who found her and Banner," Rogers gestured to a tall, thin cop with a wide mustache. He swallowed and jerked his head towards a car nearby, where a huddled figure crouched between two policemen. "That's Banner."

I bit my lip, considering. I was desperate to question Banner, if the Chicago cops would let me, but I needed to get a sense for the situation before I did. "C'mon, let's get a quick look around," I said. "If that lieutenant will let us on his turf."

"He will," Rogers said confidently. "He's a big fan." It took me a moment to get it. I glanced up at him, gaping like an idiot. Rogers winked at me. "There are some perks to being Captain America."

"Fair enough," I said with a snort of laughter.

He quickly sobered again as we approached the brightly lit area surrounding the body. It looked like the evidence boys were wrapping up, and nobody yelled at me when I walked over.

It was even worse up close than it had looked at a distance. There was blood everywhere, collected into a sticky pool only half-covered by the blanket, smeared by feet and limbs all around the pavement. I took care not to step in any of it. There weren't any shells or casings I could see, and there was too much blood for her to have been strangled. Rogers was stiff and quiet at my elbow.

I crouched near where her head should have been and glanced up at one of the evidence boys. "Cause of death?"

He shrugged and tugged the blanket back from the body. She was face down, thank God, if there was still a face under the blood-soaked long hair that stuck out from something pulpy. Behind me, there was a sharp intake of breath from Rogers. I managed to keep a straight face, but my stomach twisted and I couldn't help swallowing hard.

"Near as we can tell," the man said disinterestedly. It was just another night for him. "Her head was smashed into the pavement. Repeatedly."

"Jesus," I muttered, unable to help glancing over my shoulder towards Banner.

"Chair's too good for that one," he mused idly.

I ignored him and made myself look down the length of the body. She was dressed in what had been a silk slip, trimmed with delicate lace around the hem. It had been torn in several places; the delicate fabric shredded and soaked with rain and blood. She was barefoot, and near as I could tell, there was no ring on her finger or any other jewelry for that matter. I didn't see any other obvious injuries.

I caught the evidence man's eye and nodded. He threw the blanket back over her body and gestured to a couple of coroner's orderlies. Rogers had retreated several paces, hunched into his coat against the rain. I badly wanted a drink, but I'd catch hell if I tried to question Banner with alcohol on my breath. I reached for a cigarette instead to steady my nerves. I could feel Rogers' eyes on me, but this time they were more covetous than irritated.

"Smoke?" I asked him, while they wrapped the girl up and put her on a gurney. He shook his head mutely and I shrugged. "Suit yourself. The cop next. Then Banner, if they'll let us."

Nelson stood a few paces down from Rogers, also watching as they placed the body in the coroner's van. His thin face was surprisingly open for a policeman, and he certainly looked a little more good-natured than your typical beat cop. I wondered how long he'd been on the force. I jerked my head at Rogers and we approached.

"Officer Nelson?" I asked, offering him a hand. "Special Agent Clint Barton. You already met my partner, Agent Rogers. I understand you found the body?"

Nelson had a good grip, firm, but I wasn't going to lose any fingers. He nodded to Rogers. "I did, Agent Barton. The man, too. Bruce Banner."

I shot a questioning look at Rogers. He cleared his throat. "Coulson had his picture sent over to Missing Persons."

"Good eye," I observed. "You mind telling me how it happened?"

"Not much to tell," Nelson shrugged. The silver star on his breast glinted with the gesture. "I was walking my beat, turned the corner, and there she was. Blood everywhere. He was lying nearby. There was so much blood I thought he was dead, too, at first. Recognized him from his picture and called it in."

Rogers and I exchanged a look. "Did you notice anything unusual tonight?" I cut in. "Unfamiliar people or vehicles?"

"Nope, not a thing. But this stretch is near the end of my beat."

"No witnesses?"

"Place was deserted."

"Canvassing won't do any good, not in this neighborhood," I mused, for Rogers' benefit. "Thanks, Officer. We appreciate it."

I rubbed my chin thoughtfully. I didn't like that nobody had heard anything, but not liking it didn't change anything. The only real witness we had so far was Bruce Banner himself. I liked that less.

Banner was huddled on the wet pavement, shivering in the pre-dawn chill. His shirt was gone, and his trousers hung in shreds. He was covered in blood, spattered from his chin to his hands, which were handcuffed tightly behind his back. They must have already photographed him because they hadn't bothered to get him out of the rain. Clearly he had already been tried and found guilty in the court of police opinion. My jaw tightened angrily.

The two officers flanking him stepped up to confront me when I approached. I gave them back their glares. "What do you want?" one of them demanded.

I held up my badge again. They didn't merit asking nicely, and I had about as many problems as a full-bird pulling rank as a Fed. "Scram," I ordered without further preamble. "Go take the air. I want a word with the doc, here."

I wasn't making any friends with the Chicago police that night, that was for sure. They slouched off, grumbling mutinously. I could feel Rogers' disapproval at my rudeness boring into my back. That would keep for later.

"Dr. Banner?" I called, and he looked up. The soft brown eyes were wide and uncomprehending in a blood- smeared face. His unruly hair was drenched with rain and possibly worse. He was shaking something awful, and his lips were blue with cold.

I shrugged out of my overcoat and quickly patted the pockets to make sure I wasn't giving the Chicago cops any additional reasons to hate me by accidentally slipping the prisoner a weapon or a threatening pack of smokes. I dropped it over his shoulders. Out of the corner of my eye I could see Rogers frown.

"Thank you," Banner mumbled automatically. He sounded numb.

I crouched so I could look him in the eye. "Dr. Banner, I'm Special Agent Clint Barton. This is my partner, Steve Rogers. We're with the FBI. Are you all right?"

Banner blinked slowly. His eyes were more-or-less focused and he didn't exactly seem drugged, but there was a dazed quality about him that I didn't like. "Please, what's going on?"

I studied him. I couldn't see a mark on him, but it was always possible he'd been sapped. That wouldn't show through his thick hair. "You're being arrested," I explained, watching him carefully. "There's nothing we can do about that now, but we'll try to get you transferred to federal custody until we can sort this out."

"They're saying I killed someone, Agent Barton," Banner said in a hollow voice. He shuddered and shifted uncomfortably in the handcuffs. "Can-can you sort that out?"

Rogers nudged me with the toe of his shoe, and I glanced over my shoulder. The policemen were returning, with the lieutenant, to take Banner away. I didn't feel testy enough for that shouting match, so I stood to leave. Banner's eyes followed me desperately.

"I don't know," I replied. "That depends. Did you?"

His eyes fell to the pavement. "Thanks," he said quietly. "For your honesty."

Rogers managed to keep his mouth shut all the way back to my car. We sat inside, waiting for the black-and-whites and the coroner's van to clear out. I lit a cigarette while I gathered my thoughts, though I opened the window in deference to Rogers.

"What was that all about?" he finally asked, sounding annoyed.

"What?"

"Banner," Rogers said shortly. "The coat."

My temper flared at his tone. "You never woke up in some alley with no idea how you got there?" I demanded.

Rogers shrugged a little and I let out an exasperated snort. I had, more than once, in those dark days after the war and later the divorce. It had been Phil Coulson who had dragged me out and given me his coat, then. I could feel for Banner. Maybe more than I should.

"Barton, we found him at the scene, covered with blood. He killed that girl," Rogers protested. "You saw what she looked like!"

"Jesus, you too?" I snapped at him. "Whatever happened to innocent until proven guilty?"

He flinched like I'd struck him. The patriotic jaw tightened, and for a pair of heartbeats I thought he was going to deck me. I tensed, but the moment passed. Rogers' eyes fell to his lap. He studied his knuckles for a moment before he replied.

"Guess I deserved that," he admitted. "You're right. But, Barton, you have to admit it looks bad."

"It does," I agreed.

Rogers turned to look me in the eye, his face earnest. "Do you really think he didn't kill her?"

I bit the inside of my lip. I didn't have one whit of real evidence to suggest otherwise. All I had was a gut feeling, an instinct, pure and simple. And my gut told me, no matter how bad it might look, that Banner didn't do it.

"No," I said after a moment of hesitation, "I don't." I took a long puff on my cigarette and exhaled slowly. "It's all a little too neat for me."

"Neat?"

"Not like that," I retorted, irritated that my train of thought had been derailed. "The scene didn't look right. Dead girl, blood everywhere, guy nearby covered in blood. There wasn't a mark anywhere on Banner, or the girl, so far as I could tell." I took another drag on my cigarette and looked back through the windshield towards the glow of downtown. "Violent death like that, you'd expect a struggle. You'd expect scratches and scrapes and bruises."

"So the girl was drugged," Rogers said. His lips pulled back from his teeth a little in righteous distaste. I couldn't say I didn't agree with that assessment.

I shrugged. "Maybe she was." I stubbed my cigarette out and flicked the butt out the window. "I don't like the timing, either. Too convenient. You're telling me a prominent scientist with a top secret clearance and not so much as a parking ticket to his name disappears on a bender only to turn up the day after the Fed gets involved, having murdered a dame?"

There was indecision in Rogers' eyes. "Stranger things," he said with a shrug.

He had a point. It was entirely possible that Banner had killed that girl. I'd seen stranger coincidences both as an agent and during the war, and I knew Rogers had, too. "Still," I mused, "it's all a little too neat, too perfect, for my tastes."

"You think the Chicago cops are going to see it like that?"

I snorted. "Hell, no. They have a dead girl and some poor sap to pin it on. Case closed."

Rogers' lips pursed into a fine line. "I still think he did it," he said earnestly. "But everyone deserves a fair shake in the eyes of the law."

I started the Ford and pulled out into the street. For Banner's sake, I hoped Phil Coulson would manage to keep us on the case.