Bloody Sunday 2

[bedlamsbard]

Mac looked like he’d been slapped in the face. He drew in a narrow breath. “My – parents?” he said thickly, as if he couldn’t believe it.

Stella nodded. “They’re here with Taylor Steel for the Fortune 500 Christmas party. Everett Taylor and his wife couldn’t make it, so he sent his brother in his place.” She frowned at him. “Mac, are you going to be okay? You could probably reassign yourself to a different case if you don’t want to work this one.”

He shook his head. “I can’t do that. Not on a case like this. We’ll be doing cartwheels through hoops for the newspapers no matter who’s working it; we should have the most experienced detectives and the whole team working a high-profile like this.” His face was desperately unhappy. “If it wasn’t for that…”

Stella sighed. “Flack’s interviewing witnesses,” she said. “Hamilton Taylor’s actually the one who found the body.”

The slap in the face had changed to an axe in the neck, but Mac bit his lip and nodded. “Then I’d better go talk to him,” he said.

“I’ll do it,” Stella offered.

“No. No, the best way to confront your demons is to meet them head-on.”

Mac Taylor, how much of that have you done these past few years? Stella didn’t voice the thought, but it came immediately to the forefront of her mind. “I’ll go with you. Better to have two detectives there – one of us might catch something the other won’t.”

Mac nodded, relief shining faintly on his face for a moment, then turned blindly away, searching along the line of crime scene tape for Flack and the witnesses.

*

They heard Hamilton Taylor before they saw him.

He was pontificating at great length, something about being a justice of the Illinois State Superior Court and how this was a disgrace not just to the Fortune 500, but to the New York Police Department. When they finally spotted Flack, he was looking increasingly pissed off, hands twitching spasmodically every few seconds as though yearning to leap of their own will over the crime scene tape and strangle Hamilton. They probably would have, too, if not for the fact that Flack liked his job.

Mac cleared his throat, and Flack turned around with every expression of relief on his face. “And here’s the guy you’ll wanna talk to,” he said. “Detective Mac Taylor. Mac, this’s the guy that found the DOA. Hamilton Taylor. I wish you joy of each other. I got other people to interview.” He loped off before Mac could reply.

“Maclarin?” Hamilton said, looking startled.

Mac inclined his head slightly, face desperately unhappy and somehow younger. “Father,” he nodded toward Evelyn, “Mother.”

“Maclarin, darling, what are you doing here?” Evelyn Taylor demanded. “It’s a tragedy about Ms. Shaw, I suppose – she was very common, after all – but surely this is no place for you?”

“I’m lead investigator on this case,” Mac said. “You know Stella – this is Detective Stella Bonasera.”

“Oh. It’s you,” Hamilton said, barely glancing at her.

Evelyn glared, or what passed for a glare among the overbred poodles of Chicago society. It didn’t look like it could warm cold toast, let alone hurt Stella’s feelings. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m Mac’s partner,” Stella said flatly. “That’s first, always. Second, I’m a New York Police Department Detective First Grade. Third, I’m a crime scene detective. Fourth, this is my crime scene. I have far more right to be here than you do.”

Stiffly, Evelyn said, “I have seldom seen it necessary to have the gentler sex on the battlefield. Your presence here –”

“Oh,” Stella said. “You don’t like me being a cop? Well, tough, you don’t have a choice. This isn’t Chicago, Mrs. Taylor. This is New York City. This isn’t your city. It’s mine.” She put her hand on Mac’s arm. “And Mac’s.”

*

Stella had foisted Lindsay off on Hawkes. Aiden wasn’t sure that was the best idea – Hawkes was a rookie, and Lindsay an unknown – but she knew for a fact that Danny would have done his best to drive her out of the city as quickly as possible. Hawkes was partnerless, and Aiden – had a partner. Putting the new girl with her would have been problematic at best, given that she usually worked hand in hand with Danny and Flack. Flack hadn’t looked too happy to see her either, but he was Homicide, not CSU. Close enough for it to count, but when it came down to it…he was one of them in everything but name, but it was the name that counted for the brass.

So she was surprised when Hawkes came up to her and Danny, Lindsay trailing in his wake with her kit dangling from her hand. Not the NYPD CSI kits Aiden knew, big and silver, but boxier and black, a sticker with “Bozeman County Sheriff’s Department Crime Scene Unit” still on the corner. “Aiden, this is Lindsay Monroe,” he said. “Lindsay, this is Detective Aiden Burn.”

“Hi,” Aiden said. “You’re the new girl, huh?”

“Yes,” Lindsay said, nodding her head. Aiden saw Danny’s point. She was cute, but untried, untested – an unknown quantity, and CSU didn’t need anymore of those, not with Danny’s Mafia relatives and Mac’s insanity bouncing cheerfully through the lab. Apple pie and girl scouts, she thought disdainfully, tilting her head back in consideration. Fresh from the country, so green she could practically smell it. You won’t last a week in this city, country girl, she thought.

“Whaddaya need, Hawkes?” she asked, accent coming through a little stronger than usual. Lindsay blinked – New York accents did tend to do that to people that didn’t know them – and gave her a hopeful, half-wary look. Knowing the welcome she’d probably gotten from Danny – she’d seen her approach him, and heard the snap in his voice when he’d talked about her – Aiden didn’t blame her.

“The body and I are going to the morgue, and our new Detective Monroe’s supposed to be processing the scene,” Hawkes said. “Can you take her? Danny’s –”

“Busy,” Aiden filled in gracefully. Danny was actually bent over the elaborate dinner table with fingerprinting tape in his hand, snarking with Flack as the other detective took a break from interviewing to snap pictures as the prints developed. If Hawkes approached either of them, he’d probably get his head bitten off. She gave Lindsay a once-over. “Yeah, I’ll take her.”

Lindsay pressed her lips together. “I can take care of myself,” she said warily. “I may not know New York City, but I can bag evidence as well as any other CSI.”

Aiden laughed. “Lesson one, Montana: This ain’t Bozeman County, honey. New York’s a different world. Welcome to the big city.”

She looked startled. “My name’s –”

“Lindsay. I heard. Hawkes, you better run if you wanna catch up with our brand new ME.”

He glanced over his shoulder. “Yeah, I guess I will. Mac just got here, so I guess –”

“I know how to deal with him,” Aiden said dryly. “I’ve only been doing it for four years now.” She glanced over his shoulder. “And he’s with Stella, so she’s more than welcome to him.”

“I’ll see you back at the lab.”

“Bring us some good evidence from the body, huh?”

He winked at her. “I’ll do my best, Detective.”

Aiden grinned at his back until he vanished out the door, them she turned back toward Lindsay. “So how much experience you got?”

“I’ve been working for the sheriff’s department for five years.”

“How long as a CSI?”

Lindsay bit her lip. “Three years. But I’m no stranger to blood and gore.”

“You might wanna rethink that when we get to some of the real fun scenes,” Aiden said. “We got stuff they don’t even dream about out in the boondocks.”

She bristled. “We have murderers in the country too. Bloody ones. And have you ever seen anyone torn apart by a bear?”

“No, but I’ve seen teenage girls torn apart by tigers in the Bronx zoo and the messes Mafia hitmen have left behind when they’re feeling artistic.” Aiden cocked her head to one side consideringly. “I’ve had a gun held to my head by a serial killer with a taste for female cops and I’ve processed scenes with five dead nurses and their blood painted over the walls by their murderer. I’ve worked scenes in all five boroughs and I’ve talked business with Mob captains. What do you got?”

“I –”

“Save it, Monroe. Whatever it was that brought you to Mac’s attention isn’t worth a gypsy cab here. You’re going to have to prove yourself all over again.” Aiden smiled. “And for Detective Mac Taylor this time.”

*

“Detective Flack says you found the body, Justice Taylor,” Mac said, visibly trying to steer the conversation back to its original path. From the expression on his face, he didn’t feel like he was succeeding.

Evelyn glanced sharply at her husband. “It’s a horrible thing, of course, although if Jacqueline Shaw is going to involve herself in business above her station it’s almost –”

“He wasn’t talking to you,” Stella snapped, crossing her arms.

Evelyn’s glare turned on her. “And you! You –”

“Mother, please,” Mac said desperately, his hardworn façade of tough New Yorker detective falling away. Not for the first time, he looked like that fresh boy he must have been when he left Chicago, only a little more timeworn, more lines on his face and sick remembrance in his eyes. “Stella’s –”

“Mac, I can take care of myself,” Stella said, harsher than she meant.

Mac looked like he’d been slapped in the face. “I –” he said, and stopped, like he’d completely lost his train of thought.

Stella flipped out her notebook. “Justice Taylor, do you mind telling us what happened when you found Jacqueline Shaw’s body?” It was phrased like a question. It wasn’t one.

Hamilton Taylor glanced toward her with clear irritation, then turned his eyes toward Mac. “I came downstairs early,” he said, every line in his body put upon and clearly saying he had no time for this, “and I came into the dining room to get some coffee. Ms. Shaw was lying on the table. I thought she was unconscious at first – she’d had a little too much to drink last night after dinner. When I got closer to her, though, I saw there was blood on her clothes and on the table, and that she wasn’t breathing. That’s when I called the police.”

“Did you call from your cell phone or call the concierge?” Mac asked, looking desperately grateful.

Hamilton sighed. “I called from my cell phone. Then I called the concierge. Is that all you need to know, Maclarin?”

“Detective Taylor,” Stella snapped.

“Did you notice anything unusual about the body?” Mac said, glancing toward her out of the corner of his eye.

“How would I know? I don’t make a habit out of looking at bodies.”

Evelyn pressed her lips together. “Are you quite done, Maclarin? This is a dreadfully inappropriate subject to be speaking of, and I am greatly ashamed that you feel a need to be a part of it.” She sniffed. “Taylors were never meant to be common lawkeepers, and you make yourself a disgrace to the family. It would be dreadful were the society pages to realize that you were serving as a – a common police officer! The disgrace of things. You’re almost as bad as your uncle Jefferson.”

Mac flinched. “At least,” he said, very quietly, “I’m on this side of the law and not the other.”

Evelyn cocked her lips to one side. “At least Jefferson had enough honor left in his body to take himself out of the country. You, however, remain here and disgrace the Taylor family and the Maclarin family both.” She turned away. “You won’t even use your own name, Maclarin. What do you think you're helping to accomplish?"

"A little justice for the Jacqueline Shaws of this world," Mac said.

She laughed. "Justice? What kind of justice? Jacqueline Shaw got what she deserved. She shouldn't have been here. She had no blood, no heritage - her ancestors were Irish immigrants just off the boat when the Maclarin family was making millions in the cotton fields."

Mac cocked his head downward. "And the Taylors are any better?"

"New money, maybe," Evelyn Taylor said. "But old blood."