Scarecrow and Mrs. King is the registered trademark and copyrighted property of B&E Enterprises/Shoot the Moon Enterprises and Warner Brothers Television. This fiction item is intended for entertainment purposes only. No compensation has been received or will be accepted for this item, and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended or should be implied.

The Energy of Sun Rays

Francine: Silence

If someone had told her, five years ago, that she'd actually be missing Lee Stetson, she'd likely have punched them. Of course, if that person had gone on to clarify that she'd be missing Lee Stetson and his wife, she'd likely have been laughing too hard for the punch to land true. But Francine wasn't laughing today. Instead, she found herself wishing that the Vault really was soundproof, because that would explain why it was so quiet in here without a need for her to remember that the Q-Bureau's office was equally quiet. She'd actually gotten used to overhearing Lee and Amanda bantering and discussing cases whenever she was working in the files.

Still, the quiet beat the current state of the bullpen, where the newly-certified Agent Nancy Zuster — one of the candidates who'd come on board during the Sallee case — was busy with the orientation of a newly-arrived consultant from MI6. How was it possible for any adult female to giggle that much, never mind someone with organizational and deduction skills as sharp as hers?

She's just nervous, Francine reminded herself, but she still sighed as she closed one drawer and opened the next.

When Amanda had first come back to work, her silence and nearly-robotic demeanor had been so terrifying that Francine had actually found herself staying in the bullpen even when she'd definitely needed to be up in the Q-Bureau's files. As a result, the box next to her desk had gotten full to the point of overflowing.

But then Billy had called her into his office a couple of days ago. Lee called in, he'd told her. He and Amanda are finally going to take that mental health time they've been needing. I know you're scheduled off for Thanksgiving —

Of course, she'd interrupted, recognizing the opportunity immediately. You don't need to ask twice. Well, as long as they'll be back afterward. He'd confirmed that they would be, and in the meantime, she knew, the activity wires would likely be equally quiet. Even international relations and intrigue tended to die down during winter weather and holiday seasons.

Besides, finishing her file work would keep her mind off of other things, including the deathly quiet in her own apartment. There'd been a day, back in August, when Lee had taken one look at her and nearly-physically dragged her over to Monk's for what had originally been meant as just one drink. They'd ended up staying for the rest of the day and into the evening, after which he'd insisted on both driving her home — it hadn't been safe to put her into a cab — and seeing her up to her apartment.

Francine had woken up on her couch the next morning, staggering through a blinding headache into her kitchen to find hot sauce, horseradish, salt, and pepper laid out on the counter next to a clean glass. The coffee maker had been set up so that all she'd had to do was turn it on, and inside her refrigerator, the tomato juice, Worcestershire sauce, and lemon juice had been moved front and center. When she'd replaced the tie she'd ruined when she'd tossed her cookies, she'd included a heartfelt thank-you note along with it.

After that, she'd sworn off alcohol completely for a few weeks, and even after she'd started drinking again, she'd limited herself to no more than two at a time. But that didn't change the terrible, mocking quiet that had greeted her at the end of every day. Just like before, Jonathan had completely vanished between one moment and the next, and this time, he hadn't even had the decency to leave a message behind. That was, she had decided, just as well.

Lee had never said anything even remotely related to "I told you so," even though she would have deserved it; nor had he there been any misguided attempts to set her up on dates with others. He was proving to be the older brother she'd always wished she had, which brought another laugh to Francine's lips. If, five years ago, you'd told her that, she would have considered that at least as ridiculous as the idea that she could miss his presence.

It was funny, sometimes, how things could go ways you might never imagine, and how that was often best in the end. Now if just that could keep being true, she thought. Silence was becoming oppressive more often than not these days.

Grimacing, she closed the current file drawer with more than the necessary force, causing the cabinet itself to rock slightly. Enough dust kicked up into the air to make her sneeze. When was the last time anyone had done anything more than just pick up in here, anyway? Maybe now was a good time for a thorough cleaning, and that would give her another excuse to stay away from the bullpen.

That line of thinking caught her off-guard. Apparently, Amanda had been rubbing off on her as well.

Shaking her head, Francine went back into the bureau office and sat down at Lee's desk, which she'd cleaned and straightened the day they'd called in. Someone had left a sealed inter-office envelope in the middle of it since then, and she stared at its large red confidential stamp for quite a while, debating. Confidential was confidential, of course, but what if it was also time-sensitive? His cases hadn't stopped just because he was taking time off, and he'd want to know if something important had come up.

Biting her lip, Francine broke the seal and opened the envelope. She'd just look at the first couple of pages to make sure it wasn't personal; if it was, she'd put it back.

There was no explanatory note on top, but that didn't matter; she recognized it as an investigative report right away. Oddly, though, the format wasn't typical for the Agency and there was no attribution. She'd just begun to straighten the papers to put them away when a notation caught her eye: tire fragments were too deformed to show conclusive evidence of reason for destruction, but a rifle round cannot be ruled out.

Lee was investigating a motor vehicle accident? She wasn't familiar with any of his cases that included something like that. Flipping forward to the next page, she read the longer version of the conclusions section.

Tread wear or poor maintenance eliminated as potential reasons for destruction, it read, as tires were approximately three months old. In addition, vehicle's owner is known to conform to the proper preventive maintenance schedule. Regardless, evidence shows that the left front tire exploded while at speed. Fragments severed the front CV axle, which showed signs of mechanical tampering. Axle fracture at speed consistent with tire fragment evidence would have led to loss of vehicle control and potential rollover.

Another flip forward revealed a page with pictures of the vehicle in question, and Francine caught her breath: it had been a white 1986 Jeep Grand Wagoneer.

It had been Amanda's white 1986 Jeep Grand Wagoneer, the one that her mother had been driving in the accident that had killed her and her oldest grandson.

Flipping more pages, Francine checked to see if there were any ballistics findings, making a sound of disgust as she ran across the original Metro police report. They hadn't even done a search, instead assuming that the tire had blown out after running over road debris. However, this mysterious second investigator had done a search, and had found two spent 7.92 x 33mm Kurz jackets about 300 yards back from the accident scene. One had been too damaged to analyze, but the other had markings suggesting the use of a Sturmgewehr 44. Both bullets had been fired sometime in the last two months.

Shaking, she dropped the report. It couldn't be, could it? Whoever had fired those things had used the same kind of old assault rifle as one of the goons at Mrs. Welch's property, during the case when she'd been drugged to reveal information. They'd found the ballistic evidence in the helicopter once Lee and Amanda had managed to bring it back down. And StG 44s weren't usually used in the United States…

Francine flipped through the entire report, scanning it for any indication of the investigator's identity. There was nothing: no signature, no cover, nothing to indicate where the information had come from. Presumably, though, Lee knew who it was, and when he saw this report, he would come to the same conclusion she just had.

Phillip King and Dotty West had been murdered, in what looked for all the world like a botched hit aimed at Amanda, Lee, or both of them. Or, even, thought Francine with a swallow, the entire Agency as a whole.

"East Germans," recalled Billy after listening to her report. "But we never did figure out who exactly it was, did we? Other than confirming it wasn't a Stasi op?"

"No," she answered. "We were able to find everyone who was carrying out the agent murders and shut down the network, but the contacts all suicided before we got much in the way of useful intelligence."

"Which means we have no idea who or what's behind this," he finished. "Damn it! Get me everything we have on the Welch case and —"

Francine's lips quirked as she dropped three file folders on his desk. They didn't have much inside of them. Billy swore again when he realized that, turning back to the investigative report. "Who wrote this, anyway?"

"It's not attributed, and the format isn't Agency. There was nothing to identify the source of the inter-office envelope." She paused. "Was Lee investigating this on his own, using his own network?"

"Yeah. He was." Leaning back, Billy sighed and rubbed one of his temples. "Both of us felt like it was hinky, but Metro had closed the case. I couldn't justify re-opening it without additional evidence."

Which explained why it had taken several weeks to get an investigative report back; it had been done informally. "Well, it looks like we have that now."

"Yeah," he answered. "Even if it is still circumstantial. But since this came in after Lee and Amanda left…"

She nodded miserably as she completed the sentence. "…they have no idea they're in danger."

"Are they, though? There've been no attempts on either of them since the accident." Billy shook his head. "They were headed out of town for a few days, but he didn't say where and I didn't want to ask. It's just the two of them, though. Amanda's son is staying with his father through the end of the month."

"Thank goodness for small favors."

"Assuming he's safe there."

"Why wouldn't he be?" she asked.

"I don't know," answered Billy. "But this isn't unofficial now. Not anymore. Go hit the computer and run all the information we have about active East German groups in the area. I need to start making phone calls." He sighed. "Beginning with one to Scarecrow."