Nine Days' Wonder: Hitting Their Stride- Part Two
May 29th
Apartment #1734
W. 171st Avenue
The apartment was decorated in dumpster chic and spacious by City standards, but ‘way too small for the crowd of CSU techs and uniforms working it. John and Fin dodged a tech carrying a clear plastic bag filled with bed linens and stepped around another packing tools into a case. A uniform directed them to the only bedroom, where they found Couch overseeing the search.
John pushed in front of Fin to enter the bedroom.
“Detective Sofarelli, I presume?”
Couch glanced at his watch.
“Don’t you guys go home?”
“Naw,” said Fin, “after a day of nothing but health food and his ugly puss, rousting a pervert sounds like fun.”
Munch drew himself to full height and stared down at Fin.
“My dear Detective Tutuola, may I remind you that the U.S. Constitution and the laws of the county and city of New York forbid the heavy-handed rousting of perverts. We are to use the utmost care and concern while investigating any charges against them, while conveying their persons for questioning and arraignment, and while searching their homes and possessions.”
His right elbow swung out and connected with a lamp, which fell to the floor and shattered.
“Oops.”
Fin grunted. “Care and concern, my ass.”
“No, my elbow. The care and concern protected it as it broke the pervert’s lamp. How’s the search going, Couch?”
“I never worried this much about fluids in Robbery.”
“Different evidence needs here,” Fin said. “Did you find any?”
Couch gestured at the bare mattress in the center of the room.
Yep and a few traces of blood. Judith said that they have Karen’s DNA swab on its way to the lab.”
While Fin and he were talking, Munch wandered the bedroom, poking into the closet and bathroom, then left for the living room. Couch heard him strike up a conversation with the fingerprint tech. Fin stayed put, but he examined the room as if verifying the new team member had done a good job.
I know I’m younger than you and ‘way younger than your partner, but I’ve been primary plenty of times; I know what I’m doing.
Couch came around the bed to face Fin.
“Am I being checked up on?”
“If Cap’n sent you out on a case, it’s because you can handle it. We’re here ‘cause there’s paperwork waiting at the house and Elliot wants us at Cusick’s last job with him and Liv tonight. So…”
Fin sat down on the mattress. “…we’ll make ourselves t’home until we head back to Brooklyn. If the perp shows up before then, it’s gravy.”
A tech stuck his head in the door and waved at Couch.
“We’re done here,” he said. “We’ll let know what we found.”
“Great. Thanks, Tony.”
Ten minutes later, the techs and uniforms were gone and the apartment lights were off. Fin sat on the mattress and Munch straddled a chair that he had carried from the kitchen. Couch leaned against the dressing table and filled them in on the case.
“Uncle Steve is Stephen Rollins, approximately 35 years, 5’10”, 190 pounds, brown in a brush cut, blue eyes. He moved in nine weeks ago, rents by the month, pays cash, gave a phony previous address to the landlord. He works maintenance at a manufacturing plant in the Bronx, hasn’t made friends at work or this building, doesn’t seem to own a car, and usually is home by 6:30.”
All three looked at the alarm clock on the nightstand by Fin-5:57.
“Earliest Cusick grabbed anyone was 8:00. Rollins don’t show by then, he ain’t coming back here.
“Sounds good to me. Cards, anyone?” asked Couch.
“Three-handed isn’t much fun.”
Having made this pronouncement, John hunched over the back of his chair and peered at Couch.
“Let’s discuss matters of importance. Who do you think killed President Kennedy-Oswald the lone gunman, agents of the US Government under orders of LBJ, or hired guns paid by the Mafia?”
“Oh, man….” Fin moved his hand to his holster. “You say one more word and I’ll tell IAB you had an acid flashback and attacked me.”
Couch watched the two partners’ stare down, one indignant and exasperated, but with the hint of a smile on his lips, the other earnestly serious, but with one eyebrow cocked.
And Munch thinks Stabler and Benson are a great team….
The warning from Fin against discussing this subject rang in his mind.
From the way Munch rattled off the choices, this must be his hobby horse. I’ll get thrown if I pick the wrong answer-not my idea of fun even if he might enjoy it.
John’s intense gaze turned its focus on Couch.
It’s time for me to make an impression.
“I prefer,” he said, “another theory.”
Fin turned to gape at Sofarelli. “You gonna take him seriously?”
“Of course. The assassination of a sitting president is a serious matter.”
Couch sat upright and met Munch’s gaze.
“I think the scenario proposed by Robert Grant and Douglas Naylor does the best job of explaining the obvious inconsistencies in the lone gunman theory.”
Munch blinked. “I don’t think I know that one-and I know them all. Please, enlighten me.”
“Well…Robert Grant and Douglas Naylor put forth the idea that the assassination was the work of two gunmen who acted independently of each other. Gunman A was Oswald, who thought he was the only shooter. The second gunman never met Oswald but was fully aware of his plan. Using that knowledge, he took his position on the far side of the grassy knoll and fired the fatal shot.”
John cradled his chin in his hand and considered this theory.
“From whom did Gunman B learn of Oswald’s intentions?”
Couch choose his words carefully. “A small group of people stumbled upon Oswald’s plan and realized its importance, but also knew it had no chance of success. They recruited Gunman B to ensure that President Kennedy would be killed at that time and place.”
While Munch mulled this, Fin’s eyes went wide. He leaned away from Couch as though afraid he might, at any moment, explode.
You aren’t the one I figured would catch me out….
“What you’re saying,” Munch said as he compared Couch’s info with his own knowledge, “doesn’t fit the well-established timeline.”
“It does-if you realize that the small group of people were time travelers.”
“Time travelers!”
Don’t even think about smiling….
“Yes, time travelers-people who could ascertain the effects of Oswald’s failed mission: Kennedy would survive to face the consequences of the Bay of Pigs fiasco, the discovery of his extramarital affairs and his ties to the Mafia. He would be impeached and imprisoned, leaving Johnson to lead a demoralized administration in a confrontation with an enraged Soviet Union. The result would be World War Three.”
Couch left the pressure of Munch’s stare as the older man weighed the feasibility of his theory. He kept his face still, showing only calm belief in his statements.
“Time travelers.”
This time, the words were said with a willingness to consider the possibility. The moment John shifted his gaze away, Couch glanced at Fin. He was shaking his head, lips thin with disapproval.
Yep, I know I’m playing with dynamite-but I’m having so much fun….
“So-who was the second gunman?”
Couch drew himself up and looked John straight in the eye.
“John F. Kennedy.”
The next fifteen seconds were pure entertainment. Munch stared blankly with his jaw open, twitched, swallowed, sucked in his lips and blew them out again, then peered at Couch, first under his lenses in disbelief, then over them in suspicion, then finally through them in thoughtfulness.
“So,” he said, “this group went forward in time from November 22nd and brought the president-“
“Ex-president; he had been impeached and convicted.”
Munch nodded. Fin gulped, choking on what his partner had swallowed whole.
“…brought the ex-president back to Dallas and convinced him that he must kill himself-why?”
“To prevent World War Three and to preserve his good name and place in history. They appealed to his love of country and of self-how could a man like Kennedy refuse?”
Munch nodded. “I can see it. Once you allow for the concept of time travel, the rest does appear to fall into place. Thank you, Couch-I hadn’t run into this theory before. Who did you say conceived of it and do they have a web site?
Couch repeated their names and confirmed that they had a web site.
“Good, very good. Now, if you’ll excuse me….”
As soon as the bathroom door was closed, Fin leaned closed to Couch.
“You left out the chicken vindaloo.”
Couch grinned. “So you’re a Red Dwarf fan?”
Fin nodded. “When John finds out your theory came from a science fiction show, he’s gonna be one pissed-off Jew.”
Couch nodded. “I’d like see his face when that happens.”
Fin’s mouth twisted into a decidedly evil smile.
“Me, too. You spin some prime shit; next time I con someone, I’m taking you with me.”
The bathroom door opened just as a key entered the deadbolt locking the front door. Couch waved the others to positions on either side of the front door, John by the hinges to swing it shut behind Rollins, Fin hidden by a coat rack hung on the wall. He took his own place ten feet from the door by the television; it would serve as cover should Rollins be aware of their presence and armed. All three had weapons drawn and were ready by the time Rollins stepped in.
“Sharon-what’s with the lights? Sharon?”
Rollins took a sideways step, cleared the swing of the door, and flicked a light switch. An overhead light lit the room. Couch aimed at Rollins’ chest.
“Steve Rollins? NYPD. Down on the floor-now!”
Munch swung the door shut as Fin moved to cover Rollins. One look at the three of them and Rollins hit the carpet. Two minutes later, he was Mirandized and ready for transport.
“Damn,” Fin griped on the elevator ride down, “that wasn’t any fun at all.”
“Never complain about an easy one,” his partner responded. “The next one will balance it out.”
Next Chapter:Shrinking