A/N1: Anyone think the Egyptian authorities were looking for the ownership of Chuck? Yeah, me neither.
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
Jeff Frye was deeply frustrated. As a political blogger he knew he wasn't quite in the big leagues yet. Not up there with the likes of American Thinker or Hot Air, but getting more recognition every day. The world of media was changing, and professionally published newspapers were increasingly under siege from the more flexible and less expensive bloggers and other internet sources. The problem was, not all of them were ethical or legit and many of them never spent the time and effort to check their sources. As the old joke went, 99% of them gave the other 1% a bad name.
That's why he was frustrated. He was very careful and refused at any time to publish mere rumors and other nonsense. He intended to compete with the big guys. The well-respected papers. The New York Times, the Washington Post, the Herald Examiner. And he intended to do it without the bloated budgets. Just with good connections, dogged reporting, and reliable information.
And the information he was expecting was supposed to be the real deal. Vouched for by two men who seemed honorable and motivated. He would have to double check it, of course, but it was a huge story. Enough, by itself to change the world, hopefully for the better. Releasing that information publicly would put him on the map as a serious journalist. Someone to be trusted. Someone to be listened to. When he had that respect, the sources would come to him and the stories he obtained would generate more respect. A thrilling positive feedback cycle.
But now there was a hiccup in his plans. Khalil had been murdered by someone. He had tried to reach Khalil's contact in Cairo, but the man wasn't answering his phone or emails. Contacting Martin himself was his last chance. It was a longshot, but he intended to try.
Frye stepped off the curb in front of his building and unlocked his car. A bearded African-American man crossed the street behind him to walk between his car and the one parked in front of it. As the man came opposite Frye he turned and fired a pistol once.
Frye's last thought was that the man had very pale eyes for a black guy.
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
Detectives Brauser and Garcia stepped under the police tape and talked for a few minutes to the uniformed officers who had been first at the scene. Then they went to the body. The crime scene guys had set up floodlights to illuminate the nighttime street.
The two detectives squatted down beside the dead man.
Brauser said, "Damn. Single shot dead center forehead."
Garcia said, "No shit. Look. The entry is tiny."
"Twenty-two," said Brauser.
"Aw, shit. The Castle Studios shooter," said Garcia, standing. He took out his phone and placed a call. "Hey, Luke...yeah, the guy got popped over in Glendale?...Yeah. Looks like a .22. Dead center forehead. I think your hitter is still operating...Sure, we'll wait."
It was a half hour later when Booker and Chen arrived to meet with the assigned detectives. "Hey, guys," said Chen.
"Hey," replied Garcia.
Without further discussion, the new arrivals squatted by the body and looked at the entrance wound.
"Yeah," said Booker, agreeing with the assessment of the caliber of the bullet. Turning to the other detectives, he said, "Brass?"
"Naw. Shooter probably picked it up."
"Makes sense. He would have left it in the Studio shooting because he was busy chasing Martin," said Chen.
"Yeah," said Booker. Turning to the other detectives he said, "Who's the vic?"
"Jeffrey Frye. Lives right over there. Apt 3F. This is his car. Keys in his hand. Car unlocked," replied Brauser.
"Robbery?" asked Booker.
"Wallet in his pants. Watch on his wrist. Messenger bag right there. Phone and laptop in the bag. Didn't even take the car. Doesn't look like it." said Garcia, shaking his head.
Looking around, Chen asked, "Anybody see anything?"
"Uniforms still canvassing, but so far zip," said Garcia.
"Looks like a hit. Just like ours. A pro hit," said Booker.
"Yeah. Looks like we stumbled into the same case," said Brauser.
"Who called it in?" asked Chen.
Gesturing at a young man a little bit past the police tape leaning against the hood of a car talking to a uniformed officer. From the body language, the man seemed to be flirting with the woman officer.
"Passing driver. Saw the body in the street. Figured it was a bum or a drunk. He pulled over to drag him out of traffic. When he saw the bullet hole, dialed 911 and waited. And no, he didn't see anyone or anything around. No pedestrians. No other cars. No nothing. Just the body," said Garcia.
"You gonna cut him loose?" asked Booker.
"Yeah. Eventually. I'm waiting to see if the dude scores Officer Browning's digits first," said Garcia.
All four detectives laughed at that. When Officer Browning turned their way to see what was so funny, all four men suddenly turned their heads away from her, hiding their smiles but leaving her suspicious.
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
The next morning the four men sat at a conference table and tried to find a connection between Frye and Martin.
"I talked to Martin last night," said Booker. "He has no idea who Frye is and claims he never heard the name."
"You believe him?" asked Garcia. Garcia had been on the force for 25 years and was as cynical as they come. Everyone thought he was as gruff as a drill sergeant, except his grandkids, who thought he was a teddy bear.
"Yeah. He's been straight with us so far. And, unless he's a top-notch actor, he's got no idea what's going on."
"What's he still doing around here, anyway?" asked Brauser. He was also a twenty-year veteran of the force and matched Garcia's personality (without the teddy bear part). The men had been partners for the last seven years.
"Hanging around until his manager's body is released. Wants to take it back to the family in London himself. They were tight," said Chen.
Both of Brauser and Garcia nodded their approval. That sort of stand-up loyalty to a friend was respected in their circles.
"So, what do we know about Frye? Any obvious connection to Martin?" asked Booker.
"Nothing we can see. Ran a blog called Progressive World," said Brauser. "Lefty shit. Save the world. Human rights. Democracy. Global warming. The whole litany of left-wing causes." Booker and Chen glanced at each other. "Nothing to tie him to Martin. At least not that we can see."
"Computers? Cell phones?" asked Chen.
"Yeah. With our computer guys, trying to break the encryption. All of it has some top notch encryption on it. Our guys said it might take them a while, if they can do it at all," said Garcia. "And it will take a while to get anything from the ISP's and cell carriers. We've served the subpoenas, but you know how long the process is."
"Yeah. We gave them Khalil's electronics too. Also encrypted," said Booker.
"Can we expedite? We have a pro hitter wandering around town icing people for no good reason we can figure out," said Chen.
Brauser shrugged. "Can try, I guess."
"Have you tossed his apartment yet?" asked Chen. "Give you a hand if not."
"Thanks, we were going to go over this afternoon. Didn't find anything useful in the messenger bag or pockets. You're welcome to double check it if you want. See if you guys see something we missed," said Garcia.
"Sure. Can't hurt to have some more eyes on it," said Chen.
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
Later that day Chen and Booker sat in a conference room with the evidence bag with the contents of Frye's pockets and his messenger bag.
Chen was going through the bag. The laptop and cell phone were gone, of course. There were some miscellaneous chargers. A voice recorder with a blank tape. About a dozen or so pens and highlighters in various colors. Two pairs of sunglasses. A package of wet wipes. A multitool. A dead flashlight. Three notebooks, mostly empty. A takeout menu for a Chinese food place near his...
A dead flashlight?
Frowning, Chen picked up the flashlight and looked at it. He clicked it on and off several times with no perceptible result. He stared at it as his mind shifted to Khalil.
Leaving the flashlight on the table, he stood up. "If you're getting more coffee I could use some," said Booker, the contents of Frye's pockets and wallet spread out in front of him.
"Right," said Chen.
He walked to the stairs at the end of the corridor and up two flights to the evidence locker.
"Afternoon," he said. "Let me have the box for Khalil. Came in a couple of days ago."
The officer behind the desk brought the box, which Chen signed for and brought back to the conference room. Leaving it on the table, he went back out for coffee for him and his partner.
"What are you doing?" asked Booker.
"This is Khalil's stuff," said Chen, opening the box.
"Ok," said Booker.
Chen rummaged through the evidence bag containing Khalil's possessions until he found what he was looking for.
A dead flashlight.
He put the light on the table and the box on the floor. It was a different make and size than the one Frye had, but they were both dead flashlights.
Booker stood looking at them with Chen. After a moment of two, being careful to not mix up the two pieces of evidence, Booker unscrewed the caps on one and then the other light, spilling the AA batteries onto the table. Booker went back to his desk in the squad room and opened the bottom drawer.
He came back with a fistful of fresh batteries for both lights. After looking at the lights for a second or two in order to figure out which way to insert them, Booker slipped the new batteries into one light while Chen slipped the batteries into the other. Neither light worked even with fresh batteries.
Both men looked at each other, thinking hard.
Booker nodded his head once and held up a finger to his partner, silently asking him to wait. Stepping out to the squad room, he said, in a loud voice for everyone present to hear, "Anybody got some Vaseline?"
A woman detective said, "Vaseline lip balm. That work?"
"Yeah. Give it here, Barb." He held up his hands to catch the small tube as it flew at him.
With the Vaseline in hand, he moved back to his partner in the conference room. He unscrewed the cap on the tube of lip balm and rubbed it across surface of the conference table, leaving a slick streak. He stepped back and turned off the lights in the room, pitching it into blackness.
Turning on the flashlight, he pointed it at the streak of Vaseline on the table, which glowed bright blue under the ultraviolet light produced by the flashlight.
"Well, I'll be damned," said Chen.
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
Casey, Chuck and Sarah were in the elevator coming up to the ground floor level of the building and intending to head over the Studio commissary for lunch. Chuck and Sarah were, as usual, holding hands. Chuck's cell phone rang.
"Hey, Alan. What's up?" he said. "...Oh sure. Send 'em over and I'll take a look...We're just stepping out for lunch, but should be back in about 45 minutes or so. Cool. Bye"
Sarah raised an eyebrow. "Alan and Luke are sending some computers and phones over in a few. They have two phones and two laptops that need to be opened. Their own computer guys struck out, so …"
"So, they are coming to the master," said Sarah with a grin.
"Damn straight," growled Casey.
An hour later, Chuck was in Castle at his workbench opening the computers and phones. As each one was cracked by the master, he copied the contents to a clean drive, labeling them and putting them aside.
Sitting by his side was his dad, working on new Intersect removal tech. The men didn't talk while working. They were perfectly comfortable with each other, and the lack of conversation was entirely due to their focus on their respective tasks.
When he was done, Chuck texted Alan for him and Luke to come pick up the equipment and the data from each.
Chuck patted his dad on the back and said, "Goin' upstairs, dad. You coming home for dinner?"
"Oh, yes, Charles. I will," said Stephen. He was distracted and didn't look away from what he was doing.
"Don't worry, Moron. I'll collect him and bring him home. If we just left him here he'd still be working a week from now without eating," said Casey.
"Thanks, Case. You want to come over for dinner?"
"Naw, thanks, Eileen is coming over and wants to cook us some salmon she's bought."
"Ok. Cool. Later," said Chuck, heading to the elevator.
"Later," said Casey.
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
In his offices at Carmichael Industries, Sarah came to Chuck's office and spent some time talking to him about the huge contract they were negotiating with Microsoft to troubleshoot some software they had in development. At least for the time being, the company was no longer pressing Carmichael Industries for an acquisition.
They were interrupted by the arrival of Booker and Chen.
"Hey, guys," said Chuck.
Sarah gave each of the detectives a peck on the cheek.
Chuck handed Booker a bag. "Here you go. Everything open. I've changed the passwords so that you can get in whenever you want. Also, everything is copied to drives. I marked on the outside of each where the data came from and didn't contaminate one with the other."
"Excellent, thanks. We knew you'd succeed where the Department's computer guys were stymied," said Booker.
"He's the best," said Sarah with a happy smile.
"Clearly," said Chen.
Booker said, "We spoke to your man Martin a little while ago."
"About what?" asked Sarah.
"The murder in Glendale the other night? One of the phones and one of the laptops you just opened were from that vic. Same shooter as the guy from the Studio. The bullets match." said Chen.
"Who was murdered?" asked Chuck.
"A political blogger named Frye. Martin's never heard of the guy," said Booker.
"How do you think these two are connected?" asked Sarah.
"Don't know. We're hoping that the phones and computers will help us with that," said Booker.
"And one other thing. Both Khalil and Frye had UV flashlights with them," said Chen.
"UV?" asked Chuck with surprise.
"Yeah. Asked Martin about that too and he has no idea," said Chen.
Chuck and Sarah stared at each other for a few moments, communicating without the need for words. Both Booker and Chen saw what was happening, and, with a glance at each other, wisely chose not to interrupt.
After a while, Chuck nodded and Sarah said, "Guys, I think we know what it was they were going to look at under UV light."
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
Hand raised to knock on the door to Martin's hotel suite, Chuck stopped and turned to Booker and Chen. "You guys wait out here for a minute until Sarah and I give you the ok. If he has illegal substances in plain view you'll be obligated to do something about it."
"Sure," said Chen, leaning on the wall. "Have him tidy up first. We'll wait."
Chuck knocked and waited. A deep man's voice came through the door, "Who is it?"
"Chuck Bartowski and Sarah Walker," he said.
There was some indistinct discussion behind the door and then it opened. A large bodyguard in a too-tight black tee shirt stood aside and let them in. The room smelled of weed and beer. Martin was sitting on a couch with a topless woman cuddled up on either side of him.
Martin grinned with happiness when he saw Chuck and Sarah.
"Chuck! Sarah! Brilliant. 'Ave a drink," he said. The women had no particular reaction to Chuck, but scowled when they saw Sarah. Noticing that, Sarah reached out and took Chuck's hand, looking at the women as she did so.
They got the message and smiled at her. She nodded back.
Chuck said, "Tyler, you have to clean up the place. The detectives Booker and Chen are outside to talk to you. We came in first to make sure you didn't have a pile of coke on the table or something."
"Detectives?" one of the women said in alarm.
"Naw, naw, naw," said Martin, reassuring the woman. "They're friends of mine. Can you ladies do me a favor and 'ead into the bedroom for a bit? An close the door, please? I don't want you to lose the frisky mood you've been enjoying. I'll be along in a jiff."
The ladies left as Martin and his bodyguard cleaned the suite up a bit. Martin finished by spraying a can of air freshener.
"What do you think, Sarah?" he asked, taking a deep breath.
"It smells like weed and air freshener," she said with a half-smile.
"Ah, yeh. High Mountain Springtime. My favorite," Martin said with a grin. Looking at the bodyguard, he said, "Let in the rest of my friends, please, Herman."
Booker and Chen came in and shook hands with Martin.
Chuck said, "Tyler, when the guys talked to you before, you had no idea what the UV flashlights might have been for. Sarah and I might have an idea. Take off your shirt, please."
Looking confused, Martin stripped his shirt off. Gently, Chuck turned him so his back was to the detectives. Now, as he looked at the spot with the missing tattoo, Chuck noticed for the first time that it looked a bit red and irritated, but still no visible tattoo.
As Sarah, Booker and Chen came closer, Chuck shined a UV light on the back of Martin's shoulder.
They all looked on with surprise.
"Well, isn't that interesting?" said Sarah.
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
A/N2: How'm I doing, guys?