A/N: Episode referenced: S1E16—Heart of Darkness

Chapter 44

"You're not thinking that she…" Neal's voice trailed off, as Emma shook her head.

"I don't want to," she said. "I-I mean, of all the places to stash a murder weapon, the heating vent is… I mean, why even hold onto it? Wouldn't you chuck it in the lake or bury it in the woods, or something?"

Neal nodded. "Yeah. I would. You probably would, too. Of course, we're a couple of cynical ex-cons."

"Neal."

He held up both his hands, palms out in a placating gesture. "Just playing devil's advocate, okay? I don't believe for one second that Mary Margaret Blanchard is some stone-cold killer. But I do believe that given the right scenario, just about anyone could snap and commit murder. If she'd planned to kill Kathryn, then yes. Unless she was planning to kill again, she'd find some way to dispose of the murder weapon. And even if she was planning to, she'd find a hiding place for it that wouldn't announce its whereabouts every time it got a little too cold indoors. But if it was something unplanned, if she just… snapped somehow… then she might not have been thinking clearly. And if she wasn't thinking clearly, if she panicked, then yeah, I can see her stashing it in the heating vent." He frowned. "Was that the only thing you found?"

Emma blinked. "Why? Isn't it damning enough?"

"No, I mean," he swallowed. "Okay. Was the blade wiped clean?"

"Uh, yeah."

"You dusted for prints?"

"I couldn't find any," Emma said. "The killer probably wore gloves."

"So much for unpremeditated, then," Neal murmured. "I guess a crime lab would still be able to detect blood traces on the knife, at least enough to confirm whether it's actually the murder weapon. Was there blood anywhere?" He asked. "In the apartment, on the stairs, in the hallway…?"

Emma hesitated. "I… I don't know. I didn't see anything in the apartment, but," she frowned, "I sort of stopped looking after I found the knife."

Neal sighed. "Come on."

"What?"

"I know a thing or two about covering tracks, or at least knowing what needs to be covered. Mary Margaret wouldn't."

"I guess I don't either," Emma admitted.

"You didn't spend as much time breaking into other people's houses and cars as I did," Neal pointed out. "Not planning on playing 'Whose Past was Rougher' here, but, well, I think I spent more time on the streets than you did, and as to how I didn't end up in the System, one, where I was living, it wasn't what you'd call thorough. It wasn't that hard to fall through the cracks if you kept under the radar. And two, I learned pretty quick how to stay under that radar, and a lot of that involved learning how to not leave any evidence about what I'd been doing or where I was holed up. So. Do you think that Mary Margaret would know how to do the same, or would you guess she'd get a little sloppy?"

Emma's eyebrows shot up. "So, if she was sloppy, we'll find more proof to tie her to Kathryn's murder, and if we don't, it's either because she's innocent or because she's very good?"

"If she were very good, she wouldn't be hiding the murder weapon in her heating vent."

Emma smiled. "Good point. Okay, you're officially deputized. At least for tonight. Come on."

"If it's official, don't I have to fill out some paperwork?"

"You want to swing by the station, do that, and then come back here?" Emma demanded.

"No."

"Then come on." She grabbed the evidence kit and got out once more. Neal followed.

The loft, Neal noted, didn't look much different than it had the last time he'd been here. Still relatively tidy, though hardly immaculate. Clean, not sterile. It didn't look as though someone had come back here in a panic, casting about frantically for a good place to hide a murder weapon before shoving it in the first out of the way spot she could think of.

Of course, it didn't mean that Mary Margaret couldn't be some sort of cold-blooded killer, but from what Neal had seen of her, he doubted it.

"No sign of blood anyway," Emma said. "I found a couple of hairs that aren't hers, but they aren't Kathryn's either." They were brownish-gold. It would take analysis to confirm it, but Emma thought she had a pretty good idea that they were David's. She'd found them on Mary Margaret's pillow. It didn't prove anything that hadn't already come to light: she'd known that Mary Margaret and David were having a relationship before Kathryn did. Still, if David and Mary Margaret had planned this together… David committing the murder and Mary Margaret helping him dispose of the body (or dispose of most of it, anyway, she thought with gallows humor), and the murder weapon… maybe finding David's hairs here was significant after all. She moved back to the heating vent, and one eyebrow shot up. "You put on those gloves?"

For answer, Neal held up his hands, so that Emma could see that he had, in fact, donned the thin rubber gloves she'd handed him earlier. "Great," she said. "I need a J-lift."

"A what?"

"Kinda like sticky tape with a backing card. Should be in the evidence bag. Pass me one?"

"Found something?" Neal asked, passing her the object she'd requested.

"Not sure," Emma admitted, taking it from him. She used the tape to pick up some tiny red fragments from the frame surrounding the heating vent.

"What's that?"

Emma took out a plastic evidence bag and dropped the object inside. "Not sure," she said again, "but it's not blood. I… think it could be… Tweezers!"

It took Neal a second to realize that she was asking him for them, not describing what she'd found. Once he'd passed them to her, she used them to pick something up from the floor and hold it aloft triumphantly. "Looks like someone broke a nail getting the vent cover off."

"I get the feeling you don't think it was Mary Margaret."

Emma met his gaze with the faint smile that told him that she'd finally found something helpful. "Think back, Neal. When have Mary Margaret's nails ever been long enough to break?" She paused for a moment, thinking. "One sec." She almost ran into the bathroom and yanked out the vanity drawer. "Clear, pale pink, shimmery pink, rosy pink… huh. I don't think I've ever seen her wear lilac, what was she thinking?"

"Find what you were looking for?" Neal asked from behind her.

Emma shook her head. "No, and that's a good thing." She held up the bag once more. "Whoever's this is, they were wearing dark red nail polish. Mary Margaret's all neutral pinks and pastels. So, unless she used the last of her Revlon Vixen," she named a shade she thought she'd seen on a bus shelter advertisement earlier that year, "and tossed the empty bottle but somehow held onto the hunting knife, I'm betting that whoever it was who was messing around at the vent wasn't Mary Margaret."

"Got any suspects?" Neal asked.

Emma sighed. "The obvious one, but I think it's too premature to jump to conclusions." She sighed. "For now, I'll act like I'm convinced by the frame job and treat Mary Margaret like she's our main suspect. But meanwhile, there's another story here and another case we've got to build."

"I'm in," Neal said at once.

"You're my deputy," Emma grinned. "You'd darned well better be."

"Back again, Sheriff?" the crime lab receptionist greeted her pleasantly the next morning.

Emma smiled. "Got something new for analysis," she said, passing over her evidence, now carefully sealed in a manila envelope. "Let me know what you find out."

The receptionist's eyes widened slightly as Emma released the envelope. He'd been unprepared for the weight of the hunting knife. "We'll get right on it," he said. "Should have something for you by tomorrow. Probably not everything; some tests take longer to run, but something."

"Great," Emma said. "Oh, and this, too," she added, passing him a smaller envelope, similarly labeled.

The clerk nodded and turned to his computer. A several moments later, the printer powered on, and two forms shot into the output tray. "Sign here, initial there… And on this one; that's your copy. Thanks, Sheriff. We'll be in touch."

Emma smiled and took the forms.

Emma hated having to tell Mary Margaret what she'd discovered, but she didn't want her friend to be surprised by the evidence against her. The heart in the jewelry box was bad enough, but the potential murder weapon surfacing wasn't helping, and Emma had to admit that she didn't know whether the broken fingernail was going to exonerate her—or whether it even was a fingernail. For all she knew, the crime lab might determine that it was something else entirely. Before she could even mention the latter, Mary Margaret went chalk white. "The heating vent?" she repeated. "Emma, I don't even know where the heating vent in my bedroom is."

Emma sighed. "Well, someone did, and they put a hunting knife in there. I checked for signs of a break in, but there weren't any."

"You don't believe me," Mary Margaret sounded as though she was about to cry.

"Of course I do," Emma assured her. "But what I think doesn't matter. The evidence is piling up by the hour. And while I may have found something that might help, it might not be enough."

"Wait, you found something good?" For the first time, Emma could see hope shining in the schoolteacher's eyes. "What was it?"

Emma hesitated. "I don't know if it's good," she said. "I don't know if it means anything. But whether it means anything or not, right now? You should be thinking about hiring a lawyer."

"An excellent idea," said a calm voice from behind her and Emma started as she spun to face the newcomer.

"Mr. Gold," she said, wondering why she should be surprised. "What are you doing here?"

He smiled. "Offering my legal services."

Okay, that did surprise her. Since when did a shopkeeper have a criminal law degree? "You're a lawyer?"

The curl of his lips turned his smile to a smirk. "Ever wondered why I was so adept at contracts?" He turned to Mary Margaret.

"I've been following the details of your case, Miss Blanchard. And I think you'd be well-advised to bring me on as your counsel."

Mary Margaret eyed him doubtfully. "And why is that?"

Gold shrugged. "Well, because the Sheriff had me arrested for nearly beating a man to death, and I managed to persuade the judge to drop the charges."

Emma fought down a surge of temper. "Asserting your influence isn't what's needed here. We need to find the truth."

"Exerting influence may be exactly what's needed here," Gold countered.

"What's needed here," Emma gritted through clenched teeth, "is for me to do my job."

"Well, no one's stopping you," Gold retorted. "I'm only here to help."

"Enough," Mary Margaret broke in, and they both turned to look at her. "Please go."

Emma eyed Gold once more. "You heard her."

"No," Mary Margaret said nervously. "I was talking to you. Oh, Emma, he's right. I need help. And you need to do your job, or else I'm screwed. So, just please – do your job the best you can, and you'll prove me innocent. Until you do, I need some practical help."

Emma hesitated. "Trust me," Gold said. "This is in Miss Blanchard's best interests."

Emma gave in. "Good luck, Mary Margaret," she said. "I hope your best interests are what he's looking out for."

Stomping out of the office would be childish. She was going to walk calmly to Granny's, have a coffee and a bear claw, and come back in an hour, because that was what mature adults did. Even if they really, seriously wanted to stomp.

Henry was seated in a booth when Emma entered the restaurant, an empty mug in front of him and a concerned look on his face. "Hey," she greeted him.

Henry repeated her greeting half-heartedly and Emma sighed as she sat down. "You know I'm going to help Mary Margaret as best I can, right kid? It's just that right now, my hands are tied."

Henry nodded. "I know, and I know she'll be okay. Good always wins," he added, but Emma noticed that he wasn't smiling when he said it.

"Well, then," she replied, trying to sound cheerful, "there you go." Henry didn't answer. Instead, he ran one of his fingers along the rim of his empty mug. "Henry?" Emma asked. "What's wrong?"

Henry turned worried eyes on her. "It's August," he said finally. "Emma… he knows about my book."

Emma blinked. "Is that all? I mean, I know you're keeping it hidden from Regina, but seriously, kid? You carry it everywhere. Most of the town knows about it by now."

"No," Henry said, his voice moving into a higher register as he continued. "He knows that the stories in it are true! He told me!"

"Henry," Emma said, "I think he was just stringing you along. Sometimes… some people think it's… funny to do that." And if she ran into August anytime soon, she was going to punch him. Or put sugar in his gas tank. Or find some pretext to arrest him or… Oh, hell, she knew damned well she wasn't going to do more than make sure he understood that what he was doing wasn't funny at all!

Henry shook his head. He looked like there was more he wanted to say, but instead, he reached down to the seat beside him, hefted his book onto the table, and flipped it open. "I don't think he was," he said, whispering now. "I think he knows. I think he's going to be part of Operation Cobra."

"Henry…" Emma started to protest. Then, when he looked up from the page, she sighed. "You want another hot cocoa?"

Henry smiled for the first time.

Emma hesitated before pushing open the door to Gold's shop and waited until he'd looked up at the sound of the jangling bell. "Well, well," he greeted her. "Sheriff Swan. To what do I owe the pleasure?"

Emma paused for a moment longer. She seriously did not trust this man, but he was Mary Margaret's lawyer. And this might be useful information. And Emma meant to do everything she could to give her friend her best chance in the face of the evidence mounting against her.

"I… uh… found something," she said slowly. "Something that might help your case. Crime lab's running analysis on it now, but if it shows what I think it will, it'll prove that someone else was in Mary Margaret's apartment, messing around with her heating vent."

Gold's eyebrows shot up. "Do tell," he said, leaning a bit closer toward her over the counter.

Emma hesitated only another few seconds before she disclosed her information. "…I don't know whose it is," she admitted. "And it's probably better I don't start making wild guesses before the facts are in. But if we can prove that someone else was in her apartment, someone who had no business being there…"

"Yes," Gold nodded, his voice almost as soft as a whisper. "Indeed. Thank you, Sheriff. You were quite right to bring this to my attention."

"Just trying to be helpful," Emma replied, her lips twitching in a slight smile.

Gold sniffed. "Well, you've certainly been that," he acknowledged, picking up a knickknack from the glass case beneath the counter and making a great show of dusting it off.

After Emma had gone, Rumpelstiltskin smiled. It seemed that Storybrooke's new sheriff was far more thorough that he'd thought, and far more thorough than Regina had expected. His smile dimmed somewhat. Although he'd led Emma and Mary Margaret to believe that he was a lawyer, it was more accurate to state that he had a fair general knowledge of the law, and how it might best be turned to advantage. When it came to the actual workings of a courtroom, he had some general ideas, mostly cobbled together from John Grisham novels and sundry films and television programs.

While such fictional sources needed to be taken with the proverbial grain of salt, Rumple knew that as defense counsel for Ms. Blanchard, he was entitled to have access in advance to all of the evidence that the prosecution was going to use to build its case. As far as his understanding went, because his task was to cast reasonable doubt on the prosecution's case, that requirement to share evidence was not reciprocal. It was a moot point, for in the end, Rumple knew, there would be no trial. That did not mean, however, that Sheriff Swan's disclosure was unimportant. For once Ms. Blanchard's innocence was established, there was certain to be an investigation into how the evidence to condemn her had been manufactured in the first place. Rumpelstiltskin could see no advantage at this point in allowing the Evil Queen to know that she'd slipped.

He pulled out his phone. "Ah, Mr. Orvosh. This is Mr. Gold." He frowned. "Yes, of course I've received your rent. That's not the reason for my call." He shook his head, as the evidence lab technician started babbling apologies. "That's quite enough," he said, after a moment. "I'm calling with regard to something that Sheriff Swan left with you this morning. I would presume you're still running tests? Well, perhaps you can answer three questions for me, based on the information you've already uncovered."

He sighed. "No, I realize you're not required to, Mr. Orvosh, but then I'm not required to raise your rent, now that I've authorized that improvement to the property." He paused for a beat. "The deck? It would seem ameliorate the market value. Yes, I thought you'd see it that way. First," he began, "from the evidence submitted, were you able to ascertain whether the items in question were taken from the person of Mary Margaret Blanchard?" He smiled. "Second, were you able to ascertain whether the items in question were taken from Katheryn Nolan?" His smile grew wider. "Third, have you discovered to whom the items do, in fact, belong?" He shook his head and affected a sigh of disappointment. "I suppose that last bit was too much to hope for. Well. You keep running your tests. But when you do obtain your results, I expect you to divulge them to me directly." His voice hardened. "And nobody else." The technician started to protest and Rumple cut him off in mid-sentence. "You know, Mr. Orvosh, there is that clause in the agreement you and I struck for the financing of your car, where it states that I have the right to demand the full principal balance owing at any time, at my discretion. Now, while I would normally be loath to do so, well, that is quite the Miata you're driving, is it not?" He smiled once more. "Splendid. I must thank you for your time and your cooperation, Mr. Orvosh. I bid you good day."

After he'd ended the call, he pocketed his phone with an air of satisfaction and resumed his dusting. It was, of course, entirely possible that he would yet need some favor from Regina, and if so, he could always alert her to the trap being laid for her before it had the chance to snap shut. And if the need for such a favor failed to materialize, well, it seemed that the Evil Queen had, at long last, obtained sufficient rope with which to hang herself.

"It was Regina." Emma nearly spat the words out before she could hang up her jacket in the vestibule later that evening.

Neal, halfway to embracing her, stopped, his eyebrows rising almost comically. "You got the report from the crime lab?"

"No," Emma sighed. "They don't have a match yet, but they were able to confirm that it wasn't Mary Margaret. They're still looking."

"Okay," Neal said, "but… Look, I'm not disagreeing with you. At all. But we've been over this already. From what you've been saying, it definitely sounds like Regina has it out for Mary Margaret—"

"Because she believes Henry's book," Emma deadpanned, and Neal wasn't certain if she was being serious or sarcastic. He shrugged.

"Or because Mary Margaret beat her to the last parking spot once, or her blueberry pie won first prize in the town fair over Regina's."

"Kinda think Regina'd go more for apple," Emma muttered.

"Fair. Anyway, we can't go with a gut feeling. We need proof."

Emma nodded. "I haven't got that yet. It's still circumstantial, but…"

"But?"

"Henry swiped a ring of skeleton keys, o-or duplicate keys, from her office. They had skull-heads on them," she added in an undertone. "And one of them unlocked Mary Margaret's apartment!"

Neal's eyes widened. Then he shook his head. "I'm guessing the others unlocked other houses?"

"Probably," Emma shrugged. "I guess."

"Okay," Neal said. "First thing tomorrow, I'm going to look at installing a combination door lock for this place."

"You think she'd…" Emma stopped. "Of course, she would. I think she probably hates me more than she does Mary Margaret."

"Yeah," Neal said heavily. "But the other thing is… if she's got keys to get into every place in town, it's shady. I don't think it's illegal unless she actually uses them; otherwise every locksmith in the country would be up on charges, but that's the problem. Just her having the keys… it gives her means and opportunity."

"She was Kathryn's best friend. With David having an affair with Mary Margaret… that's motive."

"Yeah. But unless we can prove that she actually used the key, it's still not enough. And even if she did, breaking and entering doesn't prove that she planted the knife or had any intention of framing Mary Margaret. What if she went to the apartment, not to plant evidence, but to hunt for it?"

"What, now she's Nancy Drew?"

"It's not that farfetched. Kathryn, her friend, is missing. She knows that Mary Margaret and David were having an affair. She suspects Mary Margaret wanted Kathryn out of the way, but she also knows that the town sheriff is a friend of Mary Margaret's and doesn't exactly feel the same way about her. What if—and I'm still playing devil's advocate, I know, but what if—Regina feels that going to you with her suspicions is only going to further convince you that Mary Margaret is innocent, because the accusations are coming from her and you don't trust her? What if she felt sure that you'd never believe her without evidence and went looking for it?"

"And she broke her nail on the heating vent, but missed the knife?" Emma asked skeptically.

"Maybe she got there before the knife was planted. Or maybe she saw the knife, tried to retrieve it, broke her nail and realized that if anyone found it, they could use it to place her in the apartment. She looked around for it, didn't find it, panicked, and ran out."

"Somehow, I can't imagine Regina panicking."

"Screwing up majorly can do that," Neal pointed out. "I'm not saying it happened that way. I'm saying that as it stands, there's more than one way to spin the evidence. And that's assuming that the fingernail was actually Regina's."

"Who else's could it be?" Emma asked, wondering aloud. Then she sucked in a breath. "When Kathryn first disappeared, I wondered whether she wasn't faking her abduction to implicate Mary Margaret and maybe David. Well, now a heart has turned up and assuming it's hers—I haven't got the lab report on that yet either—that would seem to put that theory in the trash. But what if I'm discarding it too quickly?"

Neal blinked. "Huh?"

Emma smiled as she went on excitedly, "What if Kathryn was trying to frame her o-or both of them, and something went wrong?" Her jaw dropped as a new idea occurred to her. "Neal… what if it was Kathryn who broke into Mary Margaret's apartment, and someone caught her?"

"You're not thinking Mary Margaret—?"

"No," Emma said. "At least, not on her own. And maybe not at all; she's… really not that great at keeping things secret, from what I've seen. But what if Mary Margaret had given David a key, and what if when Kathryn broke in, David was in the apartment waiting for Mary Margaret to come home. He's strong enough. And he's been having blackouts. Maybe…"

Neal frowned. "Before you get too far ahead of yourself, maybe you ought to check with Mary Margaret. If she didn't give David a key, then…"

"Then we're back to suspecting Regina. Who might not have the only skeleton keys in town." She brought the heels of her hands to her forehead with an exasperated groan. "This is getting more convoluted by the minute, but you're right. I'll ask Mary Margaret about it in the morning."

It had been a long, stressful day, and she found herself nodding off more than once during dinner. When she was done, she mumbled something to Neal about making an early night of it, and promised herself that she'd ask Mary Margaret about the key, first thing in the morning.

Unfortunately, a resolution made when a person is half-asleep isn't always uppermost in their mind when they awaken all too soon. And as it happened, an early morning phone call from the crime lab, followed by another from the D.A.'s office barely five minutes later, quickly pushed any thoughts of the previous evening's conversation completely out of Emma's head.