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Another sleepless night, and another breakfast--and then
there was Henry.
"Word down from above," said Henry. "You got sprung."
Just like that. Ray was dizzy. Just like that. Good old
Fraser.
His heart lightened as door after door closed behind him
for good, and he found himself walking faster and faster. Henry
started laughing, and Ray grinned at him.
Even the thing with the psycho driver seemed to have been
cleared up. Signed out; and property claimed; and he was free.
Confused--but free!
Someone was standing just inside the door outside,
silhouetted against the brightness just beyond, and his heart
quickened. Fraser--
Then he got closer, and his heart fell when it wasn't
Fraser.
But, ohmigod, it was Suzanne Chapin. And, damn, she
looked good.
"I don't believe it," he said.
"Came to give you a ride," she said. "We have a lot
to talk about."
That was an understatement. When they got to the station
and the last piece of the tangled chain had been set before him,
Ray sat for a minute, too stunned to speak.
"What?" he said.
"Water." Elaine was trying to hand him something. It was
a cup of water.
"Thank you kindly, Elaine."
She looked surprised for a minute; then she looked at Welsh
and left. He drank the water. It didn't make any of the evidence
go away, but the cup gave him something to hold onto.
"Detective?" Welsh.
"Huh? I mean, yes, sir?"
"Should I call the paramedics?"
Huh? "No, sir. No--sorry! Sorry, sir, this is
just--overwhelming."
"She really hates you a lot," Dewey commented. She
seemed surprised when Welsh and Huey and Ray looked at her in
silence for a minute.
So Victoria had--good god, how long had she been working
on this? Bank robberies and computer hacking--how long did this
kind of thing take to plan and set up?
"It was the bullet that started to unravel everything,"
said Suzanne. "Too bad Fraser wasn't here to find it, since it was
his idea. Only took three days of digging through garbage to find,
but it was worth it."
"Rattling around in the center of that world globe.
Punched right through Canada," Huey said.
Ray tried to hide his flinch. Not everything was symbolic.
"And the keyboard," said Dewey. "Fingerprints on
Seggebruch's computer keyboard."
"Victoria's," said Ray.
"And it all came together," said Suzanne.
Ray smoothed his hands over his head. Something seemed to
be wrong with his breathing.
"The bullet from the globe matches the one Seggebruch
took," said Welsh, "and we have both cases connected and solved."
"And a whole bunch of bank robberies cleared up," Huey
said. "Texas, Louisiana, Oklahoma, Missouri--we've got money here
from at least half a dozen robberies. Collecting money to nail you
and pay off everybody who was helping her. At least one other
murder: guy down in Texas who got away with ten thousand dollars
before somebody shot him. Money from that robbery here, too."
"Black widow," Dewey murmured. "She uses and then she
kills."
Ray stared at her. Oh, god, don't say that. Fraser--
"And right after she shoots the guy in Texas, she finds
Brendan Willson, having learned of him by going through the records
of Detective Vecchio's cases," said Welsh. "Which she
gets from the department mainframe, thanks to a program--" He slid
the computer disk in its plastic bag into the center of the table.
"--Jeremy Seggebruch writes that will select Detective Vecchio's
case files for her perusal. Security procedures at the mainframe
will be--re-evaluated."
"And he makes an ATM card," said Ray. "He makes an ATM
card for Willson to use when he deposits the money."
"Probably from an ATM receipt one of you threw away at the
machine, instead of destroying it." Huey's voice hinted that the
idiot who'd done that was Ray.
But Ray had a couple suspects of his own. He was going to
have to have a brotherly chat with them about receipts--whether
they wanted to, or not.
"And then she kills him--or Brendan does--and she reformats
his computer to destroy the evidence," said Suzanne.
"But not all of it," said Dewey, "because she didn't have
time to destroy those two thousand, five hundred, and seventy-two
backup disks he had in there. Good thing she didn't just set a
fire, because then it would have burned up all those two thousand,
five hundred, and seventy-two disks. No, she had to leave those
two thousand, five hundred, and seventy-two disks just sitting
there for us to find. Two thousand, five hundred, and seventy-two
disks, and only three hundred of them had labels that made any
sense at all."
Ray peered at the disk in the evidence bag. "M-V," its
label read. Which could have meant "Metcalfe-Vecchio" or could
have meant "Miami-Vice" or could have meant part of the alphabet.
"More robberies in Chicago," said Huey.
"I get slipped a twenty from the latest one by that guy I
thought was trying to con me," said Ray, "and he disappears with
whatever she paid him."
"Probably lying in some alley," Huey said. "Sleeping it
off. Wouldn't remember you even if we did find him."
"Metcalfe tucks twenty thousand in cash and forty thousand
in money orders made out to Vecchio's deceased father in a train
station locker--" Dewey said.
"Money orders being a cheap and easy way to launder
Detective Vecchio's illegal proceeds," Welsh murmured.
"--and the locker key gets into the base of Vecchio's
statue of Liberty--how?" said Suzanne.
"Rache." Ray's mouth quirked. "She came in with Aless one
day; knocked Liberty off the desk. Could have put it in there
then."
"Once Detective Vecchio is--er, incarcerated," Welsh said,
"Internal Affairs receives an anonymous tip as to the location of
said key."
"Which finishes Detective Vecchio." Huey didn't have to
sound so pleased.
"Who has finished Brendan Willson for her." Oh, god,
Victoria had used Ray to clean up for her, tidy up one of the loose
ends. Ah, god, he'd killed a man--and she'd profited.
They sat in silence for a minute. Ray still felt stunned.
"So, now," said Welsh, "the question is: where is
Ms. Metcalfe?"
And where is Benton Fraser? Ray thought. Why
isn't he here, with me? But he already knew: Fraser was with
her. He was with Victoria. She had him.
And, even with Ray out of jail, that meant she'd won.
Something inside him was opening up: some bottomless hole trying
to suck all of him right into it.
"My office," Welsh said to him when the impromptu meeting
broke up.
"Yes, Lieutenant." Suddenly Ray felt exhausted.
"Your badge, detective." Welsh handed it to him. "And--your
gun." Welsh fixed Ray with a look as he handed it over. "Please be
careful where you fire it. We don't want any--bystanders--getting hurt."
"Yes, sir." Ray's face felt hot as a red-hot stove.
"Mounties," Welsh had meant. "Don't shoot Fraser again," Welsh
had meant. Well, Fraser wasn't the target Ray had in mind.
"Go home, detective," Welsh said. "Rest. Let us find Ms.
Metcalfe. Stay out of it. That's an order."
"Yes, sir."
Go home. Ray stumbled down the stairs. Home. Home to a
family that had disowned him? Or home to an apartment empty of
the center of his life? Which, exactly, was home?
She was waiting for him, leaning on a rental car. Suzanne.
Damn, she looked good enough to eat: big eyes, long
honey-blonde hair, and that mole just above a mouth that was dessert all
by itself. His heart jumped in his chest like a startled frog.
But some part of him was saying, Down, boy; you're taken.
And it was right: he was taken. The guy had run off with the
lousiest piece of work on the planet, but Ray was taken.
"Just couldn't stay away, huh?" he said, grinning at
Suzanne.
"Saving your butt again," she countered. There was warmth
in her eyes and a luscious promise in her smile. Ray took a shaky
breath.
"Damn awful timing," he said. "I'm kinda--involved--"
Some light went out in her eyes, and her back straightened.
"Well, we'll always have Highway 31."
"Yeah." Damn. Oh, damn, she'd come back and rescued him.
She'd come back; she'd come back. The sweetness of that moment
when he'd first seen her flooded through him, and for an instant
that old flame flared up. Damn, she was a class act.
He stepped forward and kissed her softly, a kiss flavored
with regret. Her mouth was as sweet as he'd remembered.
She grinned wryly at him when he stepped back. "That kiss
meant something," she said mockingly, quoting him from that long-ago time.
He grinned at her. "Yeah. It meant, 'Thank you, and in
some other universe....'"
She looked at him for a minute, and then her lips touched
his for an instant.
"Well, having rescued your attractive rear end," she said.
"I'll disappear into the sunset. Case is closed on Brendan
Willson, but there's plenty more where that came from."
As her car pulled away, Ray felt like a bridge he'd come
to count on had just broken apart as he stepped off it.
He stood for a minute, just drinking in the sun. Damn nice
afternoon; a little chilly, but it would be a damn nice evening
for all the little trick-or-treaters. The hole inside him seemed
to be swallowing the warmth of the sun; he warmed himself by
thinking about Victoria. Keep away the coldness of Fraser's
betrayal with the good, hot fury of hate.
"So you finally got your chance to kill her," said his
father.
Ignore him. Ray started down the street.
"You finally got a chance to do it," said his father.
"Finally start acting like a real man."
Ray turned on him. "So--is that it? Is that what you'd
do? Kill her? Kill Fraser too, maybe? Is that what a real man
would do?"
"She put you in jail; she deserves it. And him-- He left
you there and went off with her. He deserves it, too. And with
him dead, maybe you'd go back to girls, like a normal man, a
real man, instead of a faggot! I gotta spend my time in
Purgatory watching you getting humped by some--"
Horns blared as Ray darted across the street to get away
from his father's voice. Real man. Finally got his chance to kill
her....
He leaned against a building to wait for his insides to
settle. Ah, god, Fraser, you left me. Something was
twisting inside him--maybe his heart. Ray closed his eyes and
listened to the sounds of the Chicago streets. Oh, god, I
trusted you, and you left me.
He opened his eyes and looked up at the sky. Like he was
surprised. He realized now that at the back of his mind he'd
always expected Fraser to leave him some time or other: fall out
of love, go back to Canada, go after Victoria--something. This
shouldn't have been a surprise. But-- Oh, god, Fraser, you
left me; you left. Misery dragged his soul toward that
dark place inside him. Find them. End it. Look out, lady,
here comes the tiger.
He took a deep breath; he shook himself. He pulled away
from the dark place. Go home, Vecchio. Just go home,
Vecchio. Home to the apartment, though there was something he
needed to check before he went up to the empty place.
The Consulate was--well, "frenzied" was such an ugly word.
And Thatcher was really not happy to see him:
"What?"
Geez, with a temper like that, no wonder the Mountie had
gone for Ray instead.
"I was hoping to find Fraser here--"
"He's not here. He's-- You're the reason he's been
shirking his duties, detective. He's been forgetful and
preoccupied and irresponsible, and it's been because of that
trouble you were in-- Why aren't you in jail?"
"I'm innocent."
That didn't seem to convince her. "And now he's taken my
good dress uniform to some cleaners, and no one seems to know which
one, and we can't find the claim ticket, so now I can't wear it,
as I'd planned, and--" She stood up, suddenly all smiles.
"Inspector Pangborn! How nice to see you before you leave! I hope
you and your men found the accomodations to your satisfaction."
Ray turned to see a black Mountie stride into the office.
Panborn was a big guy, taller than Ray, whom he looked over,
analyzed, filed away, and dismissed. Behind Pangborn, Turnbull
shifted from foot to foot like a worried child.
"Yes, Inspector Thatcher; quite satisfactory. The Musical
Ride always enjoys its stop in Chicago. Of course, sometimes the
trip out is more eventful than we like." He was staring pointedly
at Ray.
"Well, I see you're busy," Ray said to Thatcher. "I'll
call you if there's any information on that matter we spoke of."
"Ah--good!" she said. "Always glad to help."
Her eyes still despised him, but oh, butter wouldn't melt
in her Mountie mouth.
To Ray's surprise, Turnbull followed him. "Detective
Vecchio, may I speak with you a moment?"
"Yeah, Turnbull."
"I--er--I'm hoping you could--ah--give me some advice about
Francesca."
Oh, you poor, sweet sap. "Flowers; candy;
adoration. These are the keys to a Vecchio woman's heart,
Turnbull. And a really good appetite for really bad linguini with
clam sauce. Take care, Turnbull."
When he left, he could hear the Mountie muttering, "Flowers
candy adoration linguini with clam sauce. Flowers candy adoration
linguini with clam sauce. Flowers candy adoration linguini with
clam sauce." Ah, jeez, maybe Ray should have written it down for
him.
Home, or supper? Ray consulted his stomach and decided on
supper. Quick sandwich.
Now, home, or-- There were no options left. It had to be
home. He steeled himself for the empty apartment.
First, though, he stood in the street for a minute, just
looking at his car. Riv, sweet Riv. Fraser'd taken good care of
it. Damn it, Fraser--
There was a streak of white, and a wolf was all over him.
"Dief!" Would Fraser willingly go off without-- "Yeah,
I know; I know. He went off with that horrible woman and left you
with Willie or somebody. Yeah, I know. We'll find him, Dief."
He stepped into the apartment, which felt cold, abandoned,
like Fraser wasn't ever coming back. Fraser, oh god, Fraser,
you left me--
Bed still made, stuff in the kitchen--the only things
missing were the pictures on the little table and Fraser's father's
journals. And Fraser's clothes. Ray stared into the closet, his
heart twisting at what he found there.
Three uniforms--red, brown, and blue--and a Mountie hat on
the shelf. Everything that was the man had gone; everything that
was the Mountie remained. Fraser's self-respect, abandoned in a
closet.
He was staring at the uniforms when he realized there was
a soft knocking coming from the front door. Puzzled, he opened it,
shooing Dief away.
And looked down at a miniature Mountie. Little kid--Adam,
was it?--in a red suit coat way too big for him, loop of string
around his neck, brown belt, blue jeans with construction-paper
yellow stripes pinned on them tucked into brown rubber boots, brown
hat with a construction-paper band. And one of those orange
plastic trick-or-treat bags stores gave out this time of year.
"Trick or treat." The words were almost whispered.
"Oh, hey, you startled me there. Well, Constable, let me
see what we got here for you." He'd bought some candy a few weeks
ago, before it all got too picked over; he hated disappointing the
little kids with that stuff that only cheap people bought. Oh,
yeah--here were those Milky Ways, the full-size ones, every
dentist's dream.
"Here you go." He dropped one into Adam's bag. Oh, what
the hell. He gave him another.
"Oh, wow!" Adam looked up with shining eyes.
Ray drew himself up and saluted. "Anything for the RCMP."
Adam giggled. "I'm not really a Mountie."
"Boy, you sure coulda fooled me! Too bad Fraser isn't here
to see this; he'd really be impressed."
Adam grinned up at him. "Are you really a cop?"
"Yes, Adam, I am a cop."
Adam looked down into the bag, apparently trying equate two
really big candy bars with the despised person, "cop." "Can I look
at your badge?"
Ray got out the badge, and then he pulled back his jacket
to show the gun in its holster, and then he dangled the handcuffs
before Adam's delighted gaze. He could see that Mountie-worship
was well on its way to being replaced by cop-worship. Smart kid.
This time, Adam returned the salute.
"Hey, you just go to those places where you know the
people!" Ray called down the hall after the small Chicago Mountie.
What the hell Adam's mother was thinking, letting him out alone
like this-- "And don't you eat anything 'till your mother looks
at it!"
He watched until the kid was out of sight.
And realization hit him. Uniforms and disguises and
trains. And Benny and Victoria.
On to part ten
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