REPOST: Trace Evidence 3: Say Goodnight (08/10), Saundra Mitchell
Vampyres Incorporeal
Title: Trace Evidence III: Say Goodnight (08/10)
Author: Saundra Mitchell
E-Mail: v...@netdirect.net
Feedback: Please!
Rating:R
Baltimore, Maryland
Fayette and Howard
"Screw this, I'm hungry." Kellerman
pulled the white Cavalier into the
MacDonald's parking lot. Ignoring
Bayliss' disgusted sigh, he parked the
car and opened his door. Without a word,
he walked into the restaurant, leaving
Tim to glare at his back.
Taking his glasses off, Tim rubbed
his eyes. They'd been looking for
Anthony Lane for the last five hours-
everyone had seen him, but no one knew
where he was. 'At least you have a
suspect,' he chided himself. For his
first case back out on the streets, he'd
been pretty lucky. He and Kellerman
worked well together, covering the same
bases and following the same linear path
of logic. The only time their strained
relationship showed was when they were
in the car together, going from one
place to another. Then they were silent-
Mike had nothing to say, and Tim didn't
know what to say. He comforted himself
with the small consolation that they
were being at least civil.
Putting his glasses back on, he was
surprised to see Kellerman dragging a
young man out of the fast food place,
totally unaffected by the kid's kicking
and struggling. Bayliss could hear Mike
shouting the Miranda statement over his
yelping and whining. Slamming the boy
face first against the car, Kellerman
leaned down to peer inside.
"Look what I found," he said,
snapping his handcuffs open.
"Man, I didn't do shit," the boy
protested. "Police brutality! Rodney
King! Rodney King!"
Opening the back door, he shoved
Anthony Lane inside without any pretense
of gentleness. "Shut the fuck up."
Tim turned around on the seat, and
buckled the boy into the middle belt.
"We've been looking all over for you,
Anthony. So glad you could join us."
"I'll be right back, I left my food
on the counter," Kellerman said, heading
back into the MacDonald's.
Rolling his eyes, Tim examined
Anthony Lane. "Killing little girls make
you hungry, Anthony?"
"I ain't saying nothing. I don't
have to. I get a lawyer."
Bayliss nodded slowly. "That's
absolutely right. You do. Of course, if
you want a lawyer that means you're
definitely spending the night in jail.
You sure you want one?"
Anthony glowered at Bayliss. "I'm
sure."
Turning back around, Tim shrugged.
"Your loss, kid."
There was a pregnant pause, and
Bayliss could almost count of the
thoughts as they occurred to Anthony. If
he'd wanted to, he could have started
the countdown. Three, two. . .
"It was an accident."
"You can tell us all about it
downtown," Tim said soothingly, hiding a
smile. Sometimes it was just too easy.
Washington, D.C.
10012 Newburgh
First sewers, now a warehouse-cum-
junkyard. Scully didn't bother
disguising her disgust as they walked
through the vaguely neat rows of refuse,
carefully observing their surroundings.
The building used to be a sewing machine
factory if the sign out front was to be
believed; now it seemed to house only
the finest garbage Washington could
muster.
Mulder was a few paces behind her,
and between the two of them, she doubted
anyone could catch them off guard. She
heard a rustling in front of her, and
she made sure the finger break on her
holster was open.
"Glad you could make it," a female
voice said from the darkness. They
stopped in their tracks, trying to
determine the direction. Marita
Covarrubias stepped from behind an
abandoned cubicle wall, her expression
full of studious sincerity.
Raising an eyebrow, Mulder walked
up next to Scully, slipping his gun back
into the holster. "Marita."
"Agent Mulder."
Scully looked from the icy blonde
woman to her partner, and back. "You two
know each other."
"I'm sorry for the mystery," Marita
said, holding out a hand. "I'm Marita
Covarrubias. I've been providing your
partner with information for the last
year when it was in our mutual best
interest."
Mulder's face hardened into a stiff
mask. "What's in your best interest
tonight, Marita?"
She looked at him innocently.
"Actually, nothing. I'm here for your
benefit." Reaching into her black
handbag, she pulled out a handful of
files. Handing them to Scully, she
caught Mulder in her sights, smiling
softly.
Opening the first folder, Scully
scanned the first few pages. A lot of
numbers, and blacked out sections in
text that didn't make any sense greeted
her, so she moved on to the next file.
She stopped, pulling one sheet out and
holding it up in the spare light.
Scully, Dana Katherine 0x995f355-4
Desig:O- Sample 4.334.2-b |oocyte|
ACAADDGGADDGTDDDAATTGGADATAACCTATTGATT
ACAADDGATTGGADATAACCTGADDGATTGATTCDGDA
GATTGGDATTGATTADATAACCTACAADDGGADTDDDA
ATDDDACAADTGGADATAACCTATTGATADGGADDGAT
DDGATTGGADATAACCTGADDGATTGATTTDDDAGATT
The cryptogram continued down the
page, and on for several more. Scully's
mouth dropped open and the color faded
from her face. She looked over at
Marita, horrified."Where did you get
this?"
"I'm sorry, everything I can tell
you is in those files," the woman
responded, stepping back. "I have to
go."
"No," Scully shouted, dropping the
folders and pulling her weapon. Papers
fluttered around her feet like a swarm
of ivory butterflies. "Where did you get
these?!"
Shocked, Mulder tried to intervene.
"Scully, this isn't going to. . . "
"Shut up, Mulder," she hissed,
pushing past him and approaching Marita.
She held the gun under the other woman's
chin. "Talk. Now."
Marita's lower lip quivered as she
stared into Scully's wide, furious eyes.
"A . . a lab, a lab in Virginia. . . our
office was . . . please put the gun
down, Agent Scully, please."
"Where in Virginia," Scully asked
coldly.
"That's classified. . . " Marita
started, but changed her mind about her
hesitance when Scully pressed harder
with the gun. "An engineering lab in
Pastorville, okay? Please let me go.
Please."
Shoving her gun back into the
holster, Scully turned on her heel and
stormed toward the front of the
building. Mulder wavering, wanting to
apologize to his informant, and
desperately needing to talk to his
partner.
"Now I understand why I was to deal
only with you," Marita said bitterly,
rubbing her throat.
"Scully, Scully, wait," he shouted,
chasing after her in the parking lot.
She didn't bother slowing, letting him
exert the effort to catch up with her.
Shoving her keys into the car's lock,
she pulled the door open violently, and
slid into the driver's seat.
Managing to open the passenger side
and get in before she took off, Mulder
hastily pulled his seatbelt on. "What
the hell has gotten into you?"
Jerking the car into gear, she
accelerated onto the street, not even
bothering to watch for traffic.
Fortunately for the both of them,
Newburgh was deserted. Scully's knuckles
were white as she clutched the wheel,
her eyes fixed coldly on the road.
"Scully!" He raised his voice only
to get her attention, which earned him a
poisonous glare. "Where are you going?"
"Those bastards. . . those. . .
bastards," she sputtered, her jaw stiff
with rage.
Reaching out to touch her shoulder,
she slapped his hand away. "Don't touch
me."
Baltimore, Maryland
Homicide Unit
Anthony Lane signed the Miranda
waiver with little hesitance. He felt
very small and cold in the yellow walls
of the box; if he could have been honest
with himself, he would have admitted he
was afraid, too. The younger cop, the
one who'd dragged him out of the Mickey
D's by the arm paced back and forth,
grinding a wad of gum between his teeth
as he stared with cold eyes. The other
cop had offered him a coke, at least,
but he'd left him alone to go get it.
Now the blonde man hovered over him,
snatching the paper away as soon as he
finished signing his name.
"My partner tells me this whole
mess was an accident," Kellerman began.
"Tell me, Anthony, how'd'you put four
bullets into a girl by accident?"
"It was an accident," Anthony
repeated, nodding in an attempt to
convince both the detective and himself.
"I was showing Tonya the gun and it just
went off."
Kellerman seemed to accept that for
a moment. "Just went off, huh?"
"Yeah, man, I don't know what
happened," he elaborated. "It was just
laying in my hand and it went off."
"I see. So where is this gun now,
Anthony?"
"I. . . I threw it in a dumpster. I
was so scared. That's why I ran."
Kellerman pulled the cigarette from
behind his ear and lit it. "A dumpster
where?"
"Behind the bus station," he
admitted. "Hey. . . can I have one of
those?"
Considering his cigarette for a
moment, Mike shook his head. "Sorry, I
only have this one. So tell me, Anthony,
why were you showing LaTonya your gun in
the first place? Trying to impress her?"
Starting to feel a little at ease,
Anthony leaned back in the chair,
putting on his playboy face. "Yeah. She
dint believe I had one, so I was showing
it to her."
"And it just went off."
"Yup."
"Huh." Kellerman took a long drag
on the cigarette. "And you got scared so
you ran."
"That's right. It was all an
accident, I would never hurt her on
purpose."
Tim slammed the door to the box
open dramatically. "You're a liar!"
Jolting upright in the chair,
Anthony's heart skipped a beat.
Slapping the door shut with his
foot, Bayliss crossed the distance to
the table quickly. Slapping down gory,
full color close ups of gunshot wounds
in rapid succession, he let Anthony get
a good look at them before sweeping them
up again.
"I just talked to the medical
examiner," Tim said, walking around
behind Anthony. "And do you know what
she said to me?"
The boy looked at the detective
behind him, and ventured slowly, "What?"
Putting his arms around his
shoulder, Bayliss flipped through the
pictures for him again, speaking in a
low, factual voice. "Well Doctor Cox is
very, very good at her job, Anthony.
Wouldn't you say so, Detective
Kellerman?"
"Oh yeah," Mike agreed, blowing his
smoke across the table. "Very good."
"And Doctor Cox told me," Tim
stage-whispered. "Told me that this shot
right here, wouldn't have killed
LaTonya. You know how she knows that,
Anthony?"
Shaking his head slowly, he tried
not to look at the picture, but Bayliss
kept moving it to assure it would be in
his line of sight.
"Because she cut LaTonya up
tonight, and followed those bullets, yes
she did, and this one here, this is
where you shot her first, it just went
through muscle and hit her shoulder
blade."
"Completely survivable," Kellerman
interjected.
"Completely," Bayliss nodded,
flipping to the next picture. "And this
one, well this one hit her rib cage, and
bounced right off."
Kellerman whistled, shaking his
head. "Flesh wound."
"And this one here, your third
shot? Well it would have required
surgery since it actually hit a vein,
see that vein in there, Anthony? Would
have required surgery, but Doctor Cox
says that your third shot was survivable
too. What do you think about that?"
"It was an accident," Anthony
whispered.
"Hey, I'm a generous guy," Tim
said, shaking Anthony by the shoulders.
"I'll give you the first three shots
were an accident. I mean hey, it was a
Lorcin, those things just go off all
random, can't help it. . . but Anthony,
Anthony, Anthony, this is your fourth
shot."
Kellerman reached for the
photograph. "Let me see that one. Oh
man. . . "
"Gruesome, isn't it," Tim asked,
taking the glossy back and showing it to
the boy. "This is your fourth shot,
Anthony. You see that black circle right
there, right around that hole? Do you
know what that is? Hrm? You don't? Well.
. do you know what it is, Detective
Kellerman?"
"I do know what that is," Mike
answered. "Man, it doesn't get any
clearer than that."
"This," Tim said with a flourish,
"This, my friend, is incontrovertible
evidence that whatever happened in those
first three shots. . . you meant to kill
her. See this circle right here? That's
where you pushed the gun against her
chest; that metal gets hot you know? It
burned an imprint of your gun into her
chest, Anthony. You can't shoot someone
and leave a mark like that unless you
mean it. You killed her, Anthony. Why'd
you do it?"
Slumping in the chair, Anthony
stared at the floor. "She made me sweat
her all summer, and then she say no to
one little kiss. I busted her ass up
'cause she a tease."
"That's harsh," Kellerman said,
standing up.
Bayliss nodded. "I can relate to
that."
"But you know what?" Mike couldn't
resist.
"What," Anthony asked, walking
right into it.
"Pretty boy like you won't have
that problem in Jessup."
Walking out of the box, Mike
grabbed the pictures from Tim and
examined them. "Where the hell did you
get these?"
Tim shrugged, heading for the bathroom.
"I dunno, Howard had them on her desk."
(End Part Eight)