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Animal - Ch. 5
“Yeah, you too, Loe. Take care,” Buffy says as she hangs up the phone and blows the bangs from her eyes. Cupcake’s all sortsa frazzled and given the hour and the info that came back from C.S.U. …
I really can’t blame her. I smile at her and lift the file. “So you wanna start with the basics?”
She nods and sips at the coffee we picked up this morning. I look around the pen to make sure no one is listening. The place is dead quiet. It’s way too early for half of these detectives to be in. Satisfied that there’s no one listening, I start in, “Alright, so we have the basics that we already know. We know how Teddy…” I stop at Buffy’s raised eyebrow. I shrug and say, “You want I should call him Vamp Snack or how about Bat Chow?”
The joke gets Cupcake and she finally sorta smiles at me. I’ll take it. “Not to offend your delicate naming sense abilities, Buufffeee. Can I can continue?”
She sticks her tongue out at me before waving her hand in a hurry up motion.
“So Teddy dies of blood loss, we know what caused it. We also know the Dracula that did this tried to cover it up.”
“Dracula wouldn’t have,” she says not even looking up from the evidence log in her hand.
“Come again, Blondie?” I ask scratching my neck.
“Dracula. This really isn’t his style. He’s all into ‘feeling your pain’ and ‘getting to know your inner killer’. In short, he’s a prick that’s way too in love with himself.” I watch her set the report down and look up at me.
I raise my eyebrow and swallow. “Alright,” I say running my fingers through my too long hair and try to wrap my head around what she just said. Not like I should be surprised, but I am. “Let’s side bar my inquisitiveness with me expecting a story later on. Teddy’s killer wanted to hide the marks on him, but not on the little girl. Why?”
“Old Man, I’ll see your 'why' and raise you a 'what the hell'. The evidence logs for both vics were pretty standard.” Her brow knits together and I know she’s about to lay somethin’ on me that I haven’t seen yet. “The one thing that ties it all up is a piece of paper found on both the father and the daughter.”
She passes the file to me and two evidence bags fall out. I hold up the first one and examine the aged paper. A hand drawn eight pointed star looks up at me. I slide open my right top drawer and pull out a pair of latex gloves. Slipping them on, I pull the evidence bag open and reach in.
The first thing I notice about the paper is that it’s thick. Not the standard stuff. Even through the gloves as I bring it out of the bag, it’s heavy and has a waxier feel to it. The gloves are slick on the surface of the paper.
Buffy rounds the corner of my desk and has her own set of gloves on. We both notice the sample that was cut from the corner of the paper. A piece of the paper and enough of the star to test the type of writing instrument used are gone. I hand the star over to her and pick up the other bag. I pull the paper out of the other bag and notice it’s the same kind. The difference with the two pieces is that this one doesn’t have a star. It’s got a lion drawn on it instead.
I inspect the drawing. Even out of the bag it’s hard to tell that it’s a drawing. It’s meticulous in the lines and form of the animal. If the shit bag who drew it wasn’t a maggot farm that should be filling the bottom of an ashtray, I’d be more inclined to be impressed. As is, it kinda pisses me off.
“Loe says that they’re getting some more info on the paper and the drawing utensil.” Buffy slips the paper back in the evidence bag and seals it. She peels her gloves off and tosses them in the trash. “My guess is it’s old. It looks old. I don’t know enough about art to say what was used, but given the type of paper, I’d say a wax base.”
I follow her earlier actions and my gloves go in the same trash can. “Fair enough.” Our heads whip around to the entrance of the squad room and Nicole and her partner, Adil, come in. Out of the rest of the D’s that work the twenty-fourth, they’re my least favorite. Something stinks about them.
I grumble, “What the fuck are Frick and Frack doin’ here so early?”
Buffy slaps my shoulder for the question. “Morning, you two,” she chirps.
They smile back and Adil looks at the clock and then our desks, “What, you two sleep here?”
No, you piece of fuck we were here early doing our job. Instead of saying what I really want to, I chime in, “Well, we got a hot one. Just trying to work it out.”
Nicole drapes her jacket over the back of her chair and heads for the coffee pot. After setting up a fresh pot, she says, “Yeah, I heard you two got stuck working with the Panty Patrol.”
“Panty Patrol?” Buffy looks to me for an answer.
Before I have time to answer, Adil cuts in, “Special Victims Unit.”
Not seeing the correlation, my partner still motions for more information. I supply, “They investigate rapes, molestation, crimes involving kids.”
I see the recognition and then the flash of anger in Buffy’s eyes. She knows the name isn’t one that’s meant respectfully. “So you call them the Panty Patrol because?”
Nicole snorts and manages between the snicker and condescension, “’Cause most of us know, that it’s a shit unit. It’s all ‘he said, she said’ cases or the vics are too screwed up or too young to make a credible witness. That’s if you can even find the alleged rapists.”
I watch my partners jaw clench. I’m still sitting in my chair, but she’s not. She’s standing against my desk and I feel her take an imperceptible step forward. I reach out and grab her forearm. I give the tense muscles beneath my hand a light squeeze.
“Cupcake, this ain’t a battle you wanna pick. They’re assholes. You know it. I know it.”
I feel her relax and she leans against my desk. Looking down at me, she gives me a brief nod and asks, “Jimmy, we need to get our notes loaded up in the system.” She lets the conversation drop and goes back to her desk.
I shoot a dirty look in the general direction of Adil and Nicole before tucking back into my desk and the stacks of paper that hold it up.
One last look at Cupcake’s pensive face and I open a DD-5 from another of our open cases.
For some reason, I don’t think it’s gonna be a good day. ‘Course it could just be the pessimist in me or the wicked ass heartburn starting to crawl up my throat.
Guess we’ll wait and see.
“Oh, and Cupcake, I still need the why?” I wink at her and I see the gears begin to turn. She’ll have a theory by lunch.
I go back to the DD-5 a little more jazzed and proud that I was able to stave off her foul-ass mood.
Shit’s hell on my acid reflux.
I rub the grit from eyes and reach for the cold cup of coffee on my desk. Glancing at the clock, my eyes go wide as I look to one of the slivers of a window in the squad room. Liv should be in soon. Then we can go over what I found.
It should be a helluva morning.
I just can’t believe I’ve been here since eleven last night. I shake it off and go to loosen my tie. My hand fumbles for the piece of clothing, but I feel the knot’s already down as low as it can go without it coming off. Shrugging, I whip the stupid thing over my head and stuff it in the pocket of my sports coat.
My watch beeps seven a.m. and right on the nose, Liv breezes through. She stops when she sees me and raises an eyebrow.
I smile sheepishly and shake a folder at her. “You’re gonna have some fun with this.”
She swings by the coffee pot and starts a fresh one. Not bothering to put the decanter under the drip she places her coffee mug first. “Oh, no. I get to tell you mine first. Last night was…enlightening.” She smirks and checks the cup. Skillfully, she swaps her mug for the decanter and fixes her cup.
I lean back in my chair, lace my fingers behind my head and wait. She ain’t usually this perky in the morning…and the fact I just called Liv perky may signal a need for some crash time in the crib.
She sits down in her chair and wheels it over to my side of the desk. Her face now reads serious and now I’m curious. “Liv?”
“El,” she says patting my knee, “we need to talk before the rest of the boys get in.”
“All ears, partner.” I sit forward and wait for her to start.
“I’m gonna get this out of the way first and then we can move on to the more interesting topics.” I watch her, closely. She’s nervous. That isn’t good. “Last night,” she takes a sip from her mug, “I went with Alex to her charity function.”
I shrug. So? “So?”
“El, I went as her date.” Her eyes twinkle in a way I haven’t seen in as long as I care to remember.
Her date?
Why would Alex…?
Oh…
Oh…shit.
“Oh.” It’s lame. It’s what I got right now.
Well, fuck me sideways and call me Sally. Really didn’t see that one coming. Not even kind of. I scratch at my neck, trying to figure out if more needs to be said. Instead of eating leather, I decide on the more tactful approach until I can wrap my head around what she just said and what she didn’t say. The didn’t way fucking more important than the did. “So, what was the other news you have?”
She seems a bit shocked but I give her smile. Hoping to convey that we really have bigger fish to catch this morning.
I wait as she processes what I haven’t said. A small smile tugs at the corner of her mouth and she nods. “So, Alex and I get there and you’ll never guess who we’re sitting with?”
I ask the expected, “Who?”
“Detective Summers and her fiancé, Doctor Rosenberg.” She scoots back a little and rests her arm on her chair. The pen in her hand tapping against the wood. “Seems Doctor Rosenberg is the liaison that Alex has been working with for the charity. Those two…El,” she stops and tries to figure out the words, “something, there’s more to them then what they show.”
Smiling, I play the devil’s advocate, “That’s true of anyone.”
“Yeah,” she concedes. “But, it’s more than that.” Wheeling herself around to her desk, she pushes the sleeves up on her sweater and waits for me to fill in.
I give off a low whistle and laugh. Leave it to her. “Well, while you were off wining and dining New York’s best looking A.D.A. and a personal friend of mine, I might add…” I tease her and waggle my finger in her direction, “I was hard at work here. “
Her eyebrows lift and I say, “Oh yeah, but it’s more in the vein of finding out some info on our lead D’s for this case.” I scratch at my chin, deciding on how best to continue. “See, Wednesday, right, it wasn’t just the vibe. Their place. They live together with Buffy’s doctor. Got me thinking. Also got me looking.”
I slide the folder over to her desk and she flips it open. She scans the information that I could find on Detectives Summers and McAllister as well as Doctor Rosenberg. None of it wholly damaging, but enough that it makes me wonder why the Rat Squad ain’t sniffed around their trees yet.
“I knew that,” she says not looking up from the printouts. “I didn’t know she and her partner are Detective First Grade.” Her mouth drops open as she sees the different commendations that are in there for Jimmy and Buffy. “The goddamned Governor. George Pataki gave her her shield?”
“In 2004, yeah. She wasn’t a Uni for six fucking months and then she catches a case with Jimmy. One letter of recommendation and a trumped-up test, and Little Miss California’s got herself a second degree detective’s shield.” I smirk, and tell her to look at the other commendation that got her to D-1 status. Her eyes get larger and she hisses, “No way.”
I fold my arms across my chest and laugh. “It’s legit. Senator Clinton gave the recommendations for both Summers and McAllister.”
She leafs through the rest of the file and shakes her head. Finally, after a few more minutes, she looks up shaking her head, “And she’s taking the exam to get her Sergeants Shield next week?” She leans back and closes the file. “Who the fuck is this woman?”
“That’s not all, Liv.” I lift up another file. “This goes back to two-oh-oh-five. There was a crazy ass M.E. that started killin’ girls. Seems he was after Summers and her lover, Rosenberg. It all ended badly. One of their friends, Aradia Iver from London, England, gets killed. Their other friend, Faith Lehane, was kidnapped along with Summers and both were tortured. At the time, Lehane was pregnant.”
I take a sip from my coffee and look at my partner. I know that I have her attention. “To add fuel to the fire, it seems that not only Lehane, but Summers as well, were prime suspects in a couple of murder investigation from her hometown.”
“Where’s she from? Can we get the full records?” Liv leans forward on her desk, her elbows propping her up.
“Would and could if the town was still around. Can’t. They’re from Sunnydale.” I wait for her to catch up. “Moreover, it was her, her family and a few others that were the ones that made it out just before that place became a crater.”
I slide over another folder and start up again, “Seems that they were closely affiliated with a company called the Watcher’s Council International. Her sister, Dawn Summers, is now the acting C.E.O. Another interesting tidbit is that Buffy’s records are all but sealed. I tried to get to some more stuff, but according to the F.B.I. I don’t have the proper clearance to access the files on anyone from Sunnydale or even on McAllister.”
A mirthless laugh escapes my partner’s lips and she says, “You know John would have a field day with this?”
“I don’t think it would hurt to ask him right now.” I add, seriously.
She chews on her lower lip before asking, “So what do we do with this?”
I shrug and go back to resting my head on my hands that are laced behind it. “I don’t know. Really, I feel a little rat like pullin’ the info, but between the apartment and their behavior…it didn’t sit right.”
She nods her agreement.
“So, what did you find out last night as you schmoozed with them?” I wiggle my eyebrows.
“Not nearly this much.” Her mouth turns down and she says, “I think we should talk to them.”
“What?” She can’t be serious.
She licks her lips and thinks through what she’s about to say. I hate the look she’s got. “Meeting them last night, I don’t think they’re on the take at all.” She rubs at her neck and says, “Last night, Buffy asked me to trust her. Said you and I would get answers eventually. I didn’t know about any of this, but for some reason, El, I do want to trust her and Jimmy. I think they’re good cops. I don’t know what they’re mixed up in, but I think if we ask, they may just tell us.”
Well that was certainly not what I was expecting. Shit.
Ugh, I think another shower is going to be in order. I blow some bangs from in front of my eyes and wipe at the sweat that’s started to drip from my forehead.
Why didn’t we get the movers to unpack? They did everything else.
I heave one of the last boxes I’ve got to unpack over to the bookshelf in the room. I watch as droplets of sweat fall from the tip of my nose and splash the box of books. I’m a sweaty, grimy mess. This is not how I wanted to spend the last day of my three day break.
But it is.
Buffy and Jimmy haven’t had time. They’ve caught a new case to round out the other ones they’re working. I wonder what they really have cookin’ away at the precinct. Buffy’s been kind of quiet about it, and last night, well, let’s just say that I only got the bare bones.
I wipe my forehead on the arm of my t-shirt and make a note to recheck the thermostat on the apartment.
Criminey, it’s hot in here.
Pulling the lid from the box, I see it’s the one that has a set of photo albums that Dawn had put together the Christmas before last. Smiling I take them out and start putting them on the built in bookshelf.
“Poop.” I grunt as I get up to answer the shrill ringing of the telephone. “Hello?” I ask into the receiver.
“Hello, Doctor Rosenberg?” the male voice on the end of the line asks.
“This is. How can I help you?” I sit on the edge of the bed and grab for the glass of water.
“I’m Doctor Anthony Cipriani over at the Chief Medical Examiner’s office. I was wondering if you’re still interested in the position we have open.”
I take a sip of water and answer, “I would be. I am. I just didn’t think that it would be anytime soon. As I understand, your offices were going through some budget constraints.”
He laughs lightly on the other end of the phone and says, “We were or rather we are, but not so much so that I can’t hire another much needed M.E. I’ve only two full time doctors. I need another. Would you be willing to come in and interview?”
I resist the urge to shout a loud yes and instead manage, “Of course, when?”
I hear pages flipping on the other end of the line and I pick at the lip of the plastic cup. I look at the cup and try to remember who in the hell went to Atlantic City.
Why would anyone go to Atlantic City? I’ve never heard anything good about it. All you do is smoke, drink and lose the money you work your fanny off for. Where’s the fun?
“Well,” Dr. Cipriani’s voice snaps me out of my internal rant, “if you can, I’d like to meet in the morning, Monday. Say eight a.m.? I know that you are working over at Presby and then filling in at some of the off-site clinics, but the sooner the better.”
I run through my work schedule quickly and figure that I can get Padesh to cover an hour or two of my shift Monday morning. He owes me for his anniversary. “I can make that work.”
“Fantastic. I’ll make a note with my admin and tell her to expect you then.” He hesitates and then before I have a chance to say thank you, he asks, “Doctor Rosenberg, if I may, why work with the M.E.’s office?”
I smirk and can only imagine the look on his face. “Because I know it’s something that I can do. I’m good at it and it allows me to help people that can’t help themselves anymore.” I set the water glass on the end table and look at a picture of Buffy and I together from our first Thanksgiving. “Because I see the value in giving voice to those that can’t speak for themselves anymore.”
He clucks on the end of the line and then says, “Very well. I look forward to meeting you on Monday then.”
“I’ll see you then. Thank you.” I smile into the phone, hoping he can hear how happy this has made me.
“Thank me if you get the job, doctor. Have a good day.” With that he’s off the phone.
I fall back on the bed and let my arms splay out. A sense of relief washes through me. I stare up at the ceiling with its fan not circulating any air. I reach for the fans remote and put it on low. The slight whirring overhead picks up creating a cool breeze. It chills some of the sweat on my over heated body.
I can’t believe they finally called. I sorta, kinda wanna cry I’m so relieved. I don’t think I’ll have a hard time getting the job, but it would mean…it would mean some type of frickin’ freedom. I took the job at Presby so that I could get some experience and not appear so green when I applied to the O.C.M.E. Instead, it’s been this monster that’s sorta taken over my life.
I’ve no time for anything. The sad thing is, is that I’ve no idea what I’m working so hard for.
To save lives?
Really that’s not it.
I mean sure it has something to do with it, but there are other doctors. Doctors that want to do that sort of thing. It’s not like I don’t want to save lives, but…it’s different.
In a way, I’m no longer part of the good fight. It’s all gunshot wounds, drug overdoses and car crashes. I’m saving people that…I sigh and shake my head.
Really not going there.
If I’m super honest, I got the doctorate because it would allow me to work in an M.E. office, sort of doing what I’ve done since I was a sophomore in high school. Research. Lots of it. Just different kinds. I would be able to share that with Buffy again.
I miss it. And that’s sorta crazy, but it’s what I know. She doesn’t talk about cases with me, not really. Of course, I can say that she and I haven’t really had a good conversation in months.
A random raspberry is blown through my lips. This just sucks. Getting married to the woman who made me realize that I was gay in a few months and the relationship is rockier than rocky road.
I turn my head to the ringing handset in my hand. What now?
“Hello?” I say again.
“Will?” Dawn’s voice comes through.
“Heya, Dawnie.” I smile glad to hear her voice. We haven’t talked in a few weeks. The odd text message here and there, but that’s it. “What’s up?”
“Oh, I’m in the states, actually.” Her voice is a little tense. Somethings up. “I’m in California. L.A.”
“Ah, something wrong?” I ask.
I know the answer to the question, but I figure I’d be polite and let her break the bad news to me in her own way.
“Uh, well there are a few things.” I can almost see her nervously chewing on her lower lip. I don’t think I’m going to like anything she has to say. “Uh, well, first let’s just say it wasn’t my fault. We were talking and the beans spilled.”
“Who was talking?” I grab for a pillow at the head of the bed and stuff it behind my head. This is going to be a long conversation.
“Uh, Angel, me, Spike, Illyria, Wes and Gunn. We were in a meeting trying to reach some kinda agreement about the slayers being in L.A. and then we were talking about non-slayee stuff. I sorta slipped that Buffy was getting married soon.”
I take the pillow from behind my head and slam it over my face. Oh, for the love of the goddess. Damn it, Dawnie! That’s the last thing Buffy and I need right now. “Uh-huh,” I manage from under the pillow. “And?”
“And that’s the one thing. They haven’t really said anything else. Angel looked like he wanted to ask who, but I didn’t offer it. I figure you would want to tell them, it’s your’s and my deranged sister’s business.”
Well, at least that’s a positive in the news stuff for today. I know there’s more. “What else?”
“Well, I was wondering if you’ve heard from Siobhan or Dexter?” her voice gets a bit higher as she asks.
“Nope. I thought you were keeping tabs on Miami,” I say. This is gonna suck.
“Alright. There’s really no easy way to say this. About two, three weeks ago, his wife and two step-kids were killed in a house fire. A week later, Dexter, his sister, Debra and our slayer are M.I.A.” I listen as the phone shifts to her other ear. “I was hoping you or Buffy had talked to either of them.”
My stomach drops and I answer her, “No. Haven’t talked to either of them for a few months. You don’t think he…” I can’t voice the thought.
It’s a crappy thought to have. In fact, it’s crap upon poop upon shit.
“I don’t know, Will. Look, I need to go. We need to finish up here and then I’m heading down to Miami. I’ll keep you updated. Love you, Buffy and Jimmy. Bye!” She’s gone before I have time to reply.
The acid in my stomach churns. I need to talk to Buffy.
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