New York Minute 6
May. 11th, 2005 06:56 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
bedlamsbardThe fact that it's Wednesday excites me far too much. this amuses me more than is probably healthy, since it is, apparently, not from CSI: NY.
And I'm not sure about this installment of NYM, mostly the last scene, but...well...I wrote it in a hurry, so...yeah, anyway.
Flack was grinding his teeth behind him, like a rock-tumbler on crack. “Run it again.”
Danny punched at the keyboard angrily, saw the security tapes rewind themselves. “There’s our perp coming in –” A woman who might have been old, migh have been young, might have been blond, might have been a redhead, tottering on high heels that made Danny’s ankles ache just at the thought.
“She’s shooting,” Flack said.
Danny resisted the urge to say, well, duh. The perp turned and ran, as Akers and several other vics went down. Then a shadowy figure separated out from the crowd and ran after the shooter.
“There’s the mystery vic.”
He, she, or it was wearing a sweatshirt and stumbling as they ran, one hand clenched to their stomach.
Flack scowled. “I still don’t get it. It doesn’t make a lick of sense. Why the hell would you run when you’ve got a bullet in you and the EMTs are coming? Seems pretty stupid to me.”
“It is,” Danny agreed. He stared at the computer screen, frustrated. “Picture’s not even clear enough to be any use. I’ll get it over to a tech, see if they can pull anything outta it, but…” He shrugged. “This fucking case has us at a dead end and we’ve barely been working it twelve hours. Fuck.”
“We went over that Starbucks with a fine tooth comb,” Flack said grumpily. “I had uniforms go over the surrounding area, nothing but the blood trail we found. No gun. I thought the evidence was supposed to lead ya’ somewhere.”
“It is,” Danny said. “If you’ve got evidence.” He and Flack shared a look of mutual frustration. “Christ, we don’t even know if DNA’s gonna pan out. The JD might not be in CODIS.”
Flack rubbed at his temples with the tips of his fingers. “What would Mac do?” he asked, not entirely joking.
“Fuck if I know.” He looked back at the file folder containing the matches to Akers’ prints, then suggested, “Wait for the Met to get robbed?”
“There’s an idea.” Flack shook his head.
*
Officer John Kelly’s face was clenched in anger and stark horror. “I don’t know why –” He shook his head in disbelief. “Everybody liked Delia. I mean, Christ, she was my partner. She was a good cop.”
“Do you know anyone who might have wanted to kill her…?” Aiden asked.
Kelly frowned. “She was a cop. If we don’t get death threats every few weeks, then we’re doing something wrong. I don’t know about anybody that would go through with it; most of ‘em are in jail. She hasn’t been on the Job long enough for the perps she caught to get out yet.”
“What about a husband? Ex-boyfriend?”
“Nah, no one. She woulda told me.” Grief etched fine lines on his face. “Her fiancé died. In – well, you know. He was a firefighter.” For a moment he seemed about to cry, then he regained control of his emotions. “She dated casually, but there wasn’t really anybody – I mean, not for a couple of months. One night stands, mostly.” He looked vaguely ashamed. “But, really, when you’re a cop, a lotta people don’t understand, especially undercover. Why do ya’ gotta do this, y’know, and they don’t get it. Easier for it to be just one night, and gone in the morning.”
“Did she mention anyone that might have been –” Aiden frowned, trying to figure out how to phrase it delicately. “– anyone obsessed with her? Following her, stalking her, that sort of thing?”
“Not really. Well, there was this one guy – but that wasn’t really – I mean, they weren’t involved. Delia doesn’t – didn’t have that bad’a taste. Guy was a jerk.” Kelly looked, for a moment, like he was remembering something. “Couple years ago, there was a case like this. Female cop got raped and murdered. You probably weren’t around then.”
Aiden searched her memory, came up with nothing. “No, I wasn’t. Who was this guy?”
Kelly’s face tightened into a scowl. “Some detective from Bronx Homicide. Sexist, chauvinistic, racist son of a bitch. Fucker wanted into Delia’s pants and she didn’t give a shit about him. I mean, who would? No girl with brains would look at him twice the second he opened his mouth.”
She blinked. “You’re not talking about a Detective McCluskey, are you?” she asked, remembering her earlier words to Danny.
“You know the guy?”
Aiden gnawed on her lower lip. “Well…actually, he’s the detective handling the case.”
“What!” Kelly leaped to his feet, outraged. “No! That son of a bitch – the bastard probably killed her. Delia wouldn’t have a fucking thing to do with him when she was alive, and she sure as hell wouldn’t want him investigating her death.”
Aiden reached up to tug him down. “Officer Kelly –”
He shook his head, disbelieving, as he settled slowly back down into his seat. “Look, Detective, I – Christ, the bastard. Look, this guy? Delia hated him. He didn’t treat her as a human being, he treated her like she was some blow-up doll for him to stick his dick in. He didn’t treat her like a cop.”
“Officer Kelly,” Aiden promised, leaning forward. “I swear I’ll find Delia’s killer, okay? You got my word. Ask anyone. No one at the Crime Lab will ever lie to you, not about that. We’ll get the guy. He left behind DNA; we’re waiting on the results. I’ll get the guy, I promise.”
*
“Well, fuck me,” Flack said, sounding surprised.
“What?”
“He’s sleeping,” Aiden said, leaning forward.
Danny blinked. “Okay, ya’ got me there.”
“He’s with Stella.” Flack’s voice was oddly pleased. “He actually came. An’ he didn’t leave her alone with the doctors.”
Danny let himself grin. Mac was in a chair by the bed, head slumped down over his chest, with Stella’s hand clenched tightly in his. One of the nurses had draped a blanket over him, and he looked…younger, maybe. Less weary, more innocent. The fine lines Danny had never really noticed when Mac was awake had smoothed themselves out, and for a moment he saw the ghost of the boy Mac had been. Then Mac shook his head, blinked into full awareness, and stared at them like he wasn’t sure who exactly they were.
Flack beamed at him, for the first time in Danny’s memory happy to see him. “Morning, Mac. Well, actually, it’s night, but we thought we’d drop by –”
Danny cut him off. “How’s Stella?”
Mac scowled down at the blanket and brushed it off, getting to his feet. He winced a little. “How’s the case going?” he asked briskly.
Flack’s grin turned into a frown, then an expression of outright hostility. “Going nowhere.”
“Aiden?”
She crossed her arms. “Dead cop in the Bronx. Waiting on DNA.”
“Danny?”
“I’m with Flack. Going nowhere.” He looked over at Stella’s bruised face, saying with more venom. “How’s Stella?”
Mac looked away, leaned over Stella, and brushed his thumb over her forehead with more tenderness than Danny had ever seen before. Then he straightened, looking as if he was almost ashamed of the position he’d been caught in. “Two broken ribs, a broken collarbone, and a fractured tibia. She was lucky. No internal damage.”
“So when’s she gonna wake up?”
Mac’s eyes flickered away again. Flack’s eyes narrowed, and Danny reached around Aiden to put one hand calming on his sleeve. “They don’t know.”
“What the hell’s that supposed to mean?” Flack demanded.
“Head injury,” Danny said before Mac could speak. “Right? Am I right? They don’t know when she’s gonna – they don’t know if she’s gonna wake up.”
He shook his head. “No.”
Aiden bit her lip, face pale. Flack looked incensed. “Well, fuck this shit,” he snarled, turning sharply on his heel and storming out.
“Flack!” Danny said, turning. Aiden grabbed his arm. “Don’t –”
Danny looked at her. “What?”
“Let him go,” she said. “Let him – he’ll come back.”
And I'm not sure about this installment of NYM, mostly the last scene, but...well...I wrote it in a hurry, so...yeah, anyway.
Flack was grinding his teeth behind him, like a rock-tumbler on crack. “Run it again.”
Danny punched at the keyboard angrily, saw the security tapes rewind themselves. “There’s our perp coming in –” A woman who might have been old, migh have been young, might have been blond, might have been a redhead, tottering on high heels that made Danny’s ankles ache just at the thought.
“She’s shooting,” Flack said.
Danny resisted the urge to say, well, duh. The perp turned and ran, as Akers and several other vics went down. Then a shadowy figure separated out from the crowd and ran after the shooter.
“There’s the mystery vic.”
He, she, or it was wearing a sweatshirt and stumbling as they ran, one hand clenched to their stomach.
Flack scowled. “I still don’t get it. It doesn’t make a lick of sense. Why the hell would you run when you’ve got a bullet in you and the EMTs are coming? Seems pretty stupid to me.”
“It is,” Danny agreed. He stared at the computer screen, frustrated. “Picture’s not even clear enough to be any use. I’ll get it over to a tech, see if they can pull anything outta it, but…” He shrugged. “This fucking case has us at a dead end and we’ve barely been working it twelve hours. Fuck.”
“We went over that Starbucks with a fine tooth comb,” Flack said grumpily. “I had uniforms go over the surrounding area, nothing but the blood trail we found. No gun. I thought the evidence was supposed to lead ya’ somewhere.”
“It is,” Danny said. “If you’ve got evidence.” He and Flack shared a look of mutual frustration. “Christ, we don’t even know if DNA’s gonna pan out. The JD might not be in CODIS.”
Flack rubbed at his temples with the tips of his fingers. “What would Mac do?” he asked, not entirely joking.
“Fuck if I know.” He looked back at the file folder containing the matches to Akers’ prints, then suggested, “Wait for the Met to get robbed?”
“There’s an idea.” Flack shook his head.
*
Officer John Kelly’s face was clenched in anger and stark horror. “I don’t know why –” He shook his head in disbelief. “Everybody liked Delia. I mean, Christ, she was my partner. She was a good cop.”
“Do you know anyone who might have wanted to kill her…?” Aiden asked.
Kelly frowned. “She was a cop. If we don’t get death threats every few weeks, then we’re doing something wrong. I don’t know about anybody that would go through with it; most of ‘em are in jail. She hasn’t been on the Job long enough for the perps she caught to get out yet.”
“What about a husband? Ex-boyfriend?”
“Nah, no one. She woulda told me.” Grief etched fine lines on his face. “Her fiancé died. In – well, you know. He was a firefighter.” For a moment he seemed about to cry, then he regained control of his emotions. “She dated casually, but there wasn’t really anybody – I mean, not for a couple of months. One night stands, mostly.” He looked vaguely ashamed. “But, really, when you’re a cop, a lotta people don’t understand, especially undercover. Why do ya’ gotta do this, y’know, and they don’t get it. Easier for it to be just one night, and gone in the morning.”
“Did she mention anyone that might have been –” Aiden frowned, trying to figure out how to phrase it delicately. “– anyone obsessed with her? Following her, stalking her, that sort of thing?”
“Not really. Well, there was this one guy – but that wasn’t really – I mean, they weren’t involved. Delia doesn’t – didn’t have that bad’a taste. Guy was a jerk.” Kelly looked, for a moment, like he was remembering something. “Couple years ago, there was a case like this. Female cop got raped and murdered. You probably weren’t around then.”
Aiden searched her memory, came up with nothing. “No, I wasn’t. Who was this guy?”
Kelly’s face tightened into a scowl. “Some detective from Bronx Homicide. Sexist, chauvinistic, racist son of a bitch. Fucker wanted into Delia’s pants and she didn’t give a shit about him. I mean, who would? No girl with brains would look at him twice the second he opened his mouth.”
She blinked. “You’re not talking about a Detective McCluskey, are you?” she asked, remembering her earlier words to Danny.
“You know the guy?”
Aiden gnawed on her lower lip. “Well…actually, he’s the detective handling the case.”
“What!” Kelly leaped to his feet, outraged. “No! That son of a bitch – the bastard probably killed her. Delia wouldn’t have a fucking thing to do with him when she was alive, and she sure as hell wouldn’t want him investigating her death.”
Aiden reached up to tug him down. “Officer Kelly –”
He shook his head, disbelieving, as he settled slowly back down into his seat. “Look, Detective, I – Christ, the bastard. Look, this guy? Delia hated him. He didn’t treat her as a human being, he treated her like she was some blow-up doll for him to stick his dick in. He didn’t treat her like a cop.”
“Officer Kelly,” Aiden promised, leaning forward. “I swear I’ll find Delia’s killer, okay? You got my word. Ask anyone. No one at the Crime Lab will ever lie to you, not about that. We’ll get the guy. He left behind DNA; we’re waiting on the results. I’ll get the guy, I promise.”
*
“Well, fuck me,” Flack said, sounding surprised.
“What?”
“He’s sleeping,” Aiden said, leaning forward.
Danny blinked. “Okay, ya’ got me there.”
“He’s with Stella.” Flack’s voice was oddly pleased. “He actually came. An’ he didn’t leave her alone with the doctors.”
Danny let himself grin. Mac was in a chair by the bed, head slumped down over his chest, with Stella’s hand clenched tightly in his. One of the nurses had draped a blanket over him, and he looked…younger, maybe. Less weary, more innocent. The fine lines Danny had never really noticed when Mac was awake had smoothed themselves out, and for a moment he saw the ghost of the boy Mac had been. Then Mac shook his head, blinked into full awareness, and stared at them like he wasn’t sure who exactly they were.
Flack beamed at him, for the first time in Danny’s memory happy to see him. “Morning, Mac. Well, actually, it’s night, but we thought we’d drop by –”
Danny cut him off. “How’s Stella?”
Mac scowled down at the blanket and brushed it off, getting to his feet. He winced a little. “How’s the case going?” he asked briskly.
Flack’s grin turned into a frown, then an expression of outright hostility. “Going nowhere.”
“Aiden?”
She crossed her arms. “Dead cop in the Bronx. Waiting on DNA.”
“Danny?”
“I’m with Flack. Going nowhere.” He looked over at Stella’s bruised face, saying with more venom. “How’s Stella?”
Mac looked away, leaned over Stella, and brushed his thumb over her forehead with more tenderness than Danny had ever seen before. Then he straightened, looking as if he was almost ashamed of the position he’d been caught in. “Two broken ribs, a broken collarbone, and a fractured tibia. She was lucky. No internal damage.”
“So when’s she gonna wake up?”
Mac’s eyes flickered away again. Flack’s eyes narrowed, and Danny reached around Aiden to put one hand calming on his sleeve. “They don’t know.”
“What the hell’s that supposed to mean?” Flack demanded.
“Head injury,” Danny said before Mac could speak. “Right? Am I right? They don’t know when she’s gonna – they don’t know if she’s gonna wake up.”
He shook his head. “No.”
Aiden bit her lip, face pale. Flack looked incensed. “Well, fuck this shit,” he snarled, turning sharply on his heel and storming out.
“Flack!” Danny said, turning. Aiden grabbed his arm. “Don’t –”
Danny looked at her. “What?”
“Let him go,” she said. “Let him – he’ll come back.”