TM Fic: Twister City (1x01 pt. 3 it's done OMG!)
Hey guys, remember back in OCTOBER when I put up part 2?
Title: Twister City, 1x01 Stormborne (3/3)
Author: kseda
Rating: PG-13
Characters: EVERYONE EVER (for a complete list see here)
Summary: Det. Wyatt Cain joins the Topeka PD, and finds out that solving crime may be the least of his problems. THIS PART: A meeting, another meeting, another meeting, and a picnic.
Disclaimer: Tin Man is not mine. Contrary to popular belief Topeka isn't either. Neither is "Topeka" by Ludo.
Part 1!
Part 2!
Act 3
Cain stared at Rawlins. Rawlins stared back.
A wide smile broke across the woman's face as she crossed the room, hand held out to the detective. "Mr. Cain, I take it?"
"Detective," Rawlins and Cain said together as Cain, his actions barely his own at this point, took the woman's hand. Her handshake was firm and professional in clear contrast with everything else about her.
"Sorry, I need to work on my proper forms of address," she remarked. "Dorothy Gailman, ADA."
Cain wondered what an ADA was doing so casually hanging around in a police lieutenant's office. He tried and failed to reject the obvious answer and shot Rawlins an incredulous glare. To his credit the other man did not look away and gazed back with calm confidence.
"Pleased to meet you, ma'am," Cain said and pulled his hand back. He'd play along with this charade of normalcy for his first day, but promised himself to not let it continue if he could help it.
Meanwhile, Gailman waved away the formality. "Please, my mother is 'ma'am,' I'll go with 'miss' for a few years yet."
Cain snorted. "My apologies, miss," he remarked dryly.
Mercifully there was a knock on the door which opened a moment later to admit the Droidens. While they both descended on Gailman to get hugs Cain grabbed the door and, with a pointed look at Rawlins, held it open. The lieutenant simply shrugged in acceptance.
Next to arrive was Praedlyn, who took one look at the ADA before she focused her attention on Cain. She handed him a manila folder labeled in red Sharpie with the murder victim's name.
"Our initial findings," she told him. "Not much to go on, the weather was working against us."
Cain nodded as he thumbed through the file. "Thanks for this, and for keeping an eye on Jeb."
Praedlyn shrugged. "Least I can do. So long as he keeps out of trouble."
Cain sighed and was about to embark on a defense of his son when Rawlins settled behind his desk, which seemed to signal to the group that the briefing was in session. Gailman resumed her lean against the desk, only now it was full of purpose and propriety. Hank and Emily moved to stand by the window, and Praedlyn stepped over to the bookcase while gesturing for Cain to take one of the empty chairs, which he did after reluctantly leaving the door.
"Tudor?" Rawlins inquired.
"Working on getting a place of residence," Praedlyn replied with a sigh. "LeFevre's trying to get info off the spike, looking for a serial number or something to find out where it was driven. Or he's just blowing off the meeting, I don't know."
"They'll come back with something," Emily Droiden said with a nod and an earnest smile.
"I hope so," Gailman muttered. "I want to give Wayzard something to look at by the end of the day. "
Praedlyn rolled her eyes. "We're still waiting on surveillance from CSX, but because of the weather visibility was lousy last night."
"That's hardly reassuring," Gailman remarked. "We've got no witnesses and the only evidence is the murder weapon."
"And the body."
"Yeah, one dead ex-marine, wait 'til the press gets hold of that."
"Sorry if that puts a hitch in your mom's chamber of commerce statement, counsel, but we're doing our best."
Any further snapping was cut short by a rapid knock at the door, then it opened to admit an annoyed-looking Tudor and a furious LeFevre.
"Stand down, everyone," Tudor sighed. "We just got overridden by the Fed."
Rawlins frowned. "What?"
"FBI flagged the case," Tudor said as he settled into the chair next to Cain's. "Said they got three other homicides with the same COD down in Tulsa."
"I saw that when getting the files together," LeFevre added and perched on the credenza. "S'why I called OKC. They called Washington, had a little chat, and then they called me back to say they were taking the case, and that us 'folks' should 'stand by' in case they want our 'help'." He ceased his air-quotes and shook his head.
"Well," Gailman began diplomatically. "If they do need help-"
"We'll be sure to tell them how to get to Bobo's," Tudor muttered.
Cain stared at the folder in his hands until Praedlyn took it back from him. "Wait, this doesn't-"
"It's the Fed," Praedlyn said. "They've probably got a suspect in mind and don't want the locals bungling it on them."
She raised her eyebrows to Rawlins, who shrugged and glanced to LeFevre, who smiled crookedly in return. Rawlins sighed and nodded, and the smile brightened.
"Off record," Rawlins said firmly.
"Of course," LeFevre replied. "We'd never dream of interfering with an ongoing federal investigation. A little research can't do any harm."
"Won't even know we were looking," Emily Droiden put in while her husband nodded.
Gailman bit her lip, then nodded slowly as well. "A... well informed law enforcement is a well-prepared law enforcement."
"Well, since that's settled," Tudor began and sat up to turn to his partner. Unless you have any objection?"
Cain looked around the room. Gailman frowned slightly still, the Droidens smiled amicably, Praedlyn flipped through the file, LeFevre stared at him curiously, and Rawlins wore an unfathomably expression.
With a sigh Cain shook his head. "No, I'm fine."
"Good," Tudor said with a quick smile. "Now why the hell did you leave a nice, quiet job in Hays to put up with crap like this?"
"Huh?"
"This is where we get your life story," Praedlyn told him. "Cuts down the gossip if everything's out in the open."
Cain had only been working in this department for five hours but already knew he'd be damned if there would never be anything to gossip about. Instead he shrugged. "Not much to tell. My son and I were looking to move, saw the job opening, applied, and here I am."
"Divorced?" Gailman asked with a tilt of her head.
His heart froze over just a little bit more as his thumb went to the wedding band he refused to take off. "No. Widowed."
There was the usual gasps, muttered apologies, even a hushed "Oh no," from LeFevre and an ashamed blush from Gailman.
"She was murdered back in January," he continued before any of them asked. "The trail went cold and...Jeb and I couldn't stay there."
Sympathy and silence lingered until Tudor reached out and clapped a hand on his shoulder. "We'll make sure you're both taken care of."
"Where are you staying?" Hank asked.
"The Holiday Inn, for now," Cain replied. "We're still looking for a place to stay."
"I've got room," LeFevre announced instantly.
Cain grimaced. "That's generous of you but-"
"He really does," Praedlyn added. "And if you move in it gives me an excuse to get the rest of my stuff out."
"At least until you get settled somewhere," Rawlins said in his solemn tone, and that seemed to decide it.
"All right," Cain sighed and nodded to LeFevre. "Thank you."
They figured there would be a "temporary house"-warming party that Saturday since most everyone would be off shift. The meeting adjourned, the CSIs going to conduct their research, the ADA to contact the FBI, and the detectives to do paperwork.
The lieutenant remained behind. He opened a file on his computer, a profile for CAIN, W. Rawlins paused, and then in the field marked "confidential notes" typed two words.
He knows.
Act 4
Praedlyn and the Droidens were huddled around Hank's computer terminal as he hacked his way into the FBI's database and flagged the Calvin Schaffer file. "Who wants updates?" he asked.
"I do," Praedlyn replied. "And Brose will."
"All right, baby doll," he said and went back to typing. "You'll be automatically BBC'd onto anything that gets added to the file. Not that the flatfoots will know it."
*
A few desks over Tudor was giving Cain the rundown.
"Our vic lived on the east side," he said, pointing to the map he had spread out over Cain's blotter. "It's a rental, his is the only name on the lease. He's been there since April, and all of this would mean something if we were allowed in the place." Tudor sighed and ran his hand over his head.
"Does this happen a lot?" Cain asked as he looked over the already familiar shape of the city.
Tudor shook his head. "Not too often. They like claiming jurisdiction sometimes, throwing their weight around. I'm just sorry it had to happen on your first day."
"From the sound of thing we may still be on the case," Cain remarked with a nod to the IT team and Praedlyn. "Does that happen a lot?"
"It keeps them busy," Tudor replied. "Honestly we've got an overqualified CSI unit, not that I told you that. Speaking of-" He pointed to an area on the map northwest of downtown. "LeFevre's place is here. It's a old section of town, nice neighborhood. Pretty quiet."
Cain raised his eyebrows. "Quiet is good."
*
In the judge's chambers at the courthouse, Marvin Wayzard was hanging up his robe and singing softly to himself. A knock on the door made him jump and reach for his cane, but he relaxed once the door opened and ADA Gailman poked her head in.
"Sir?" she began. "I'm sorry to interrupt but-"
"Counselor, the correct for of address is 'your honor'," he told her as he waved for her to enter. "Come in, come in, what's this now?"
Gailman, dressed for business in a blouse, trousers, and jacket, stepped inside with a nod and closed the door behind her. "I'm sorry, si- your honor," she began and held out a file. "I have my report on the railroad case."
"The one the FBI took," he sighed and waked to his overstuffed desk chair, gesturing to his inbox as he sat down. "Ms. Gailman, do you have any idea why a federal agency would think our local law enforcement is too incompetent to handle a simple homicide?"
Gailman blinked, then shook her head and dropped the file into the box. "I don't think it i a question of competence, your honor. I believe in this instance the bureau was just taking responsibility for a case similar to one they were already working."
"Hm," Wayzard mused thoughtfully, then rested his elbows on the desk and steepled his fingers. "So it's all just a matter of protocol... or not."
Gailman bit her lip. Not this again. "Our people are cooperating as the bureau requested. We are still very much involved with the case and will remain so."
The judge nodded. "Good, good. Keep me posted on the progress. Am I correct in thinking the new detective is involved in this? Cain?"
"Yes," she replied, and relaxed marginally. "He's partnered with Tudor."
Wayzard nodded again and leaned forward. "Keep an eye on him, counsel, I want you to stay by his side at all costs."
She stared at him blankly. "You honor?"
"The sheriff in Hays had a few words about him," the judge continued. "The last thing we need is a loose cannon with a badge. Give me your word, as a representative of this city, that you will watch him."
Gailman blinked and shook her head. Watching after screwy detectives was hardly in her job description, but if it gave her an excuse to spend more time at the police station...
"I promise," she said with a confident smile. "I'll keep him in line."
*
Two teenage girls ran giggling down a hotel hallway. One stopped short in front of a door, the other collided with her, and they both shrieked.
"Shhh!" the second girl said loudly, finger to her lips. They giggled again and started pounding on the door, calling for Megan. The door opened, and the girls were presented with a very irritated Wyatt Cain. They stared at him, he glared at them.
"Megan and Tori got moved to room 415," he said firmly and pointed across the hall.
"Sorry!" the girls chorused, then made a show of quietly sneaking across the hall. Wyatt turned with a grumble, more giggling, pounding, and yelling come through as the door closed.
"Wave your gun at them next time," Jeb suggested from one of the double beds.
His father considered that for a moment, then shook his head and returned to the table which held a Topeka road map and a box of pizza. Wyatt took a slice and sat down in the uncomfortable hotel chair. "Don't want the department to think I'm more of a hick than they already do."
Jeb let his book (The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time, required summer reading) fall to his chest. "Maybe put a sign up?"
"They've gotta go to bed son," Wyatt said around a mouthful of pizza. He swallowed and continued. "Then they're gone tomorrow, and we're out of here the day after that."
Jeb scowled. "We're really just moving in with this guy?"
"Until we get on our feet," Wyatt replied. He was still looking over the map, mentally superimposing the one with crime statistics over it. "I'm... sorry I didn't plan this better. I wasn't thinking much beyond the job and getting you registered for school."
For a few moments it was quiet as Jeb tossed the book from hand to hand. "Mom would have found us a nice house."
Wyatt looked up and tried to find words, only to give up with a nod. "I know.
There was more giggling in the hall and then vigorous knocking on the door. Jeb glared and mimed holding a gun, while Wyatt shook his head and got up to deal with the newest group of high-on-sugar teenage girls.
*
The following day saw an odd procession out of the police station's back door: a gurney bearing a body bag being directed to an unmarked transport van by two technicians, two FBI agents (a square-jawed man with a crew cut and an Asian woman, both wearing suits), and two men in white lab coats (LeFevre and Raynz).
"You're sure we can't keep this one?" LeFevre asked, somewhat wistful.
"We're quite sure, Dr. LeFevre," Agent Nora Ving replied.
LeFevre sighed and stuffed his hands in his labcoat's pockets. "But we only get maybe a dozen murders a year, if we skip one we might get rusty."
The other agent, Mike Stonefield, snorted. "A dozen? Does that actually come out to one a month or-"
"Actually it's fascinating," Lefevre said, leaping onto the topic. "They seem to bunch up in November, February, and May. I'm doing a study on it, so outliers like this can be invaluable-"
"Very interesting, and if we need any more information we'll know who to ask," Ving snapped and held out her hand.
Defeated, LeFevre handed over an evidence bag holding the railroad spike. Raynz accepted the transfer papers from Stonefield then stepped back with a bored expression.
"Oh!" Stonefield said, pausing just before the agents got into their rental car. "I heard of this place somewhere out here, it's like an old time drive-in?"
LeFevre brightened. "Bobo's?"
"That's it, Travel Channel said it was good," the agent continued. "Either of y'all know how to get there?"
Raynz's glare managed to increase in force while LeFevre just shook his head. "Speaking both as a guy who likes burgers and a forensics pathologist, don't bother with it. You're better off with Burger King."
Stonefield frowned. "Really?"
"Sorry," LeFevre sighed. "Anyway, best of luck to you guys."
The agents made their exit, and LeFevre turned to Raynz with a smile.
"So. Doing anything for lunch?"
*
The lunch rush was typical for a Friday at Bobo's Drive-In. A carhop with fading ginger hair made her way to a classic black GTO, settled her tray on the driver's side window, and smiled down at the occupant. "There you go, hon, can I get you anything else?"
"Two slices of pie à la mode, please, Judy," Ambrose replied. She nodded and headed back to the restaurant. Ambrose handed Leona a red plastic basket holding a double cheeseburger with fries, then her soda, then took his own basket (same thing, only with onion rings) with a happy sigh.
They were both quiet for a few moments as they savored the first bites.
"I'll be around tonight for those boxes," Leona told him. "Don't forget to clean the bathrooms before they get there tomorrow."
"I won't forget," Ambrose said and took another bite of his burger. "God, it's the crispy outside that just-"
"And you're splitting the utilities with him," she continued. "I know you're short on cash still, so even if they're just there for a couple of months it will help."
He lifted his eyebrows. "You're actually concerned. And here I thought you were just encouraging him so I'd have some decent scenery."
"Last time I turned my back you ran out and bought this thing," she remarked and gestured around the car. "Have you heard back from the patent office?"
He ate an onion ring and nodded. "They want to see a working prototype."
"I would too if some nut on the prairie was pitching me a solar-power hologram projector. So my next question-"
"Lea-"
"Is going to be-"
"You know the ans-"
"How's the prototype coming, Brose?"
"It's not," he snapped. "Between running the lab and the two nights a week at the club I just don't have the time."
She shook her head. "Good thing you're getting a roommate so you can quit the club and go back to work on it, then. Right?"
Ambrose shrugged and glanced out the window. "Oh! Judy's got our pie!"
Leona sighed in frustration and thumped her head back on the headrest.
Act 5
A faded blue pickup truck hauling a rental trailer made its way along an old brick road that was lined with Victorian homes. behind the wheel was Wyatt Cain, who was frowning at house numbers. In the passenger seat his son Jeb tried to look unimpressed by the scenery.
"There it is," Wyatt said and angled the truck into a narrow driveway. He cut the engine and they both stared at the house.
"It's purple," Jeb stated.
"It's blue," Wyatt said.
Jeb looked at the plum-shaded front door and other detailing and shook his head. "It's got a lot of purple."
"Come on," his father sighed, unfastening his seatbelt. "It's home for now." They got their suitcases from the back of the truck's cab and started across the lawn.
The house was two stories with a steep front gable sheltering part of the attic, a large bay window on the second floor, and a veranda running from the front porch along the left side and to the back of the house. As they climbed the front steps the purple door opened to reveal Ambrose, dressed in a black and red striped shirt and jeans.
"Hey, you found it," he said with a wave, then turned back to the house and shouted "They're here!" He returned his attention to his guests with a grin. "Hi."
"Hello," Wyatt replied, blinking. "This is my son Jeb. Jeb, this is Dr. LeFevre."
"Nice to meet you," Ambrose said as they shook hands. "And, please, Ambrose is fine. Come on in, Lionel's getting the grill set up out back, you can at least get your suitcases to your rooms, then after lunch we can start on the boxes."
"Thanks," Wyatt said with a nod, then nudged Jeb who also muttered his thanks before stepping inside.
The foyer was small and lead immediately into the living room with stairs to the second floor off on the right. Beyond the living room was the kitchen, where they could hear Leona and Thomas Tudor arguing about mayonnaise.
"Built in 1887, it's one of the older homes in Potwin," Ambrose said over the noise. "It's been in my family since 190-"
"They don't care, Brose," Leona called and poked her head out of the kitchen. "Show them their rooms and help me keep this idiot from ruining the macaroni salad."
"I'm telling you," Thomas snapped. "If you don't get that Miracle Whip away from my bowl so help me-"
Ambrose looked pained. "We're not going near that. Upstairs."
As they ascended the steps Wyatt took in the antique furniture, the faded photographs, the cobwebs in the corners and the dust in the widow frames. "Nice place," he said diplomatically. "Lived in."
"Oh, this old dump?" Ambrose remarked with a smile over his shoulder. He got to the top of the stairs and gestured to the right. "Second door on the left, Wyatt. Jeb, you've got the attic - it's finished - so second door on the right. The steps are narrow but you should be fine."
"What's in the other rooms?" Jeb asked as he followed his father down the narrow hall.
"Bathroom," Ambrose replied and opened the first door on the right, then turned and opened the first one on the left. "My office. Master suit's down the other end of the hall," he added and pointed back over his shoulder. "I'll be down making sure my kitchen doesn't get destroyed, you can catch up with me there."
More thanks were offered, and the Cains got acquainted with their new accomidations. Wyatt's room was on the small side but that was plenty of room for him. Jeb found himself briefly distracted by the star chart poster pinned impossibly high on the steeply-pitched ceiling.
His father met him at the bottom of the attic steps. "All right?"
Jeb shrugged. "It's fine, I guess."
"We won't be here long," Wyatt reminded him and clapped a hand on his shoulder. "Let's go see if we can help with lunch."
They went back to the ground floor to discover Lionel calmly sliding hunks of chicken and vegetables onto skewers at the dining room table. Beside him was a cutting board with neatly formed hamburger patties and slices of cheddar cheese. Through the back window they could see Leona and Thomas working on covering a long picnic table with a blue and white checked cloth.
"Welcome home," Lionel said with a faint smile.
"Home for now," Wyatt allowed ruefully and nodded to the preparations. "Need any help?"
Lionel shook his head, then hummed and reconsidered. "How are you with burgers?"
"I can hold my own," Wyatt remarked and picked up the cutting board. He glanced at his son. "Want to give me a hand?"
Jeb had been studying the various magnets and other items arrayed on the refrigerator absently. He shrugged. "I'll be out in a bit."
Wyatt sighed and nodded, then followed Lionel out. Jeb took the opportunity to do a bit more snooping and so turned his attention to the cork message board on the kitchen wall.
There was a to-do list "for Saturday," mostly crossed off. All of the entries were written in a neat but hasty scrawl except for the last item written in large, feminine script. "BEHAVE!" There was also a list of take-out places with phone numbers, a police memo about updated municipal codes dated from May 16, and a child's crayon doodle of what might have been Ambrose and Leona, each smiling and holding a piece of paper labeled "evidents."
Thank u Dr. Laferf and Miss Lea, was written across the top. It was signed Luv, Taniqua.
Jeb heard feet on steps from somewhere below him, and then a door in the living room opened. Ambrose stepped through, one arm curled around a large box while he closed the basement door behind him. He froze for a moment when he saw Jeb, then broke into a grin.
"I'm going to get used to that," he promised as he entered the kitchen. He placed the box on the counter, then opened it and lifted out a large punch bowl made of green glass. He carried the bowl to the sink and set about washing it.
Jeb kept himself busy by opening a cabinet door, which happened to contain he pantry.
"While you're in there could you grab me the lemonade mix?" Ambrose asked. "Bottom shelf on the left, I think."
The plastic container was located and Jeb brought it over to the counter and let it down. "Here."
"Thanks, Jeb," Ambrose replied, then blinked. "Huh. You don't here that name very often."
"No you don't, Ambrose," Jeb said pointedly. He went to the other side of the counter where two stools were arranged, pulled one out, and settled upon it.
"I guess Wyatt's not that common either," Ambrose mused, then beamed. "Hey, we've all got something in common already." He finished rinsing the bowl and set it aside, then grabbed a towel to dry his hands.
Jeb sighed, then spotted a phone book which had been left out and pulled it closer so he could leaf through it while Ambrose made lemonade.
"I know you've got this whole brooding teenager thing going on," Ambrose began out of nowhere. "And you've got more reason than most. New town, new school, your dad's got you moved in with somebody you don't know. And..." He stopped, wisely, instead of bringing up the boy's mother. "Let's just say i get it, okay? So if you ever want to talk-"
"What?"
Ambrose shrugged and went to the freezer for ice. "Nothing, just... here to help if you want it."
Jeb flipped the book closed and slid off the stool. "We're not going to be here long," he said and trudged out the back door.
With a frown Ambrose replayed the conversation, mouthing his words for a moment, then sighed and rolled his eyes. "Oh no, Ambrose," he snapped to the empty kitchen. "That wasn't at all creepy."
*
From here on you can count on all things going
The way they must have from the start
All you feel is the current flowing through you
And seizing your infected heart
It was not long before the picnic table was set, burgers and kebobs, corn on the cob with butter, macaroni salad (without Miracle Whip), cornbread and other fixings. Ambrose, Leona, and Thomas took one side of the table with Lionel, Jeb, and Wyatt opposite them.
Once everyone had a full plate Lionel cleared his throat and lifted his blue Solo cup of lemonade. Soon they all had their cups raised and were looking at him expectantly.
I found God in a catalytic converter
In Topeka on a Monday night...
"To new friends," he began, and Ambrose and Leona smiled slightly. "New partners," and here Thomas nodded. "And new beginnings."
Wyatt and Jeb looked at each other, resigned and resolved, then glanced around the table at the people who, for better or for worse, were going to shape their lives.
"New beginnings," Wyatt echoed, and the phrase was repeated as the cups came together over the center of the table.
...every saint has a past, every sinner has a future...
fade to black
end credits
Title: Twister City, 1x01 Stormborne (3/3)
Author: kseda
Rating: PG-13
Characters: EVERYONE EVER (for a complete list see here)
Summary: Det. Wyatt Cain joins the Topeka PD, and finds out that solving crime may be the least of his problems. THIS PART: A meeting, another meeting, another meeting, and a picnic.
Disclaimer: Tin Man is not mine. Contrary to popular belief Topeka isn't either. Neither is "Topeka" by Ludo.
Part 1!
Part 2!
Act 3
Cain stared at Rawlins. Rawlins stared back.
A wide smile broke across the woman's face as she crossed the room, hand held out to the detective. "Mr. Cain, I take it?"
"Detective," Rawlins and Cain said together as Cain, his actions barely his own at this point, took the woman's hand. Her handshake was firm and professional in clear contrast with everything else about her.
"Sorry, I need to work on my proper forms of address," she remarked. "Dorothy Gailman, ADA."
Cain wondered what an ADA was doing so casually hanging around in a police lieutenant's office. He tried and failed to reject the obvious answer and shot Rawlins an incredulous glare. To his credit the other man did not look away and gazed back with calm confidence.
"Pleased to meet you, ma'am," Cain said and pulled his hand back. He'd play along with this charade of normalcy for his first day, but promised himself to not let it continue if he could help it.
Meanwhile, Gailman waved away the formality. "Please, my mother is 'ma'am,' I'll go with 'miss' for a few years yet."
Cain snorted. "My apologies, miss," he remarked dryly.
Mercifully there was a knock on the door which opened a moment later to admit the Droidens. While they both descended on Gailman to get hugs Cain grabbed the door and, with a pointed look at Rawlins, held it open. The lieutenant simply shrugged in acceptance.
Next to arrive was Praedlyn, who took one look at the ADA before she focused her attention on Cain. She handed him a manila folder labeled in red Sharpie with the murder victim's name.
"Our initial findings," she told him. "Not much to go on, the weather was working against us."
Cain nodded as he thumbed through the file. "Thanks for this, and for keeping an eye on Jeb."
Praedlyn shrugged. "Least I can do. So long as he keeps out of trouble."
Cain sighed and was about to embark on a defense of his son when Rawlins settled behind his desk, which seemed to signal to the group that the briefing was in session. Gailman resumed her lean against the desk, only now it was full of purpose and propriety. Hank and Emily moved to stand by the window, and Praedlyn stepped over to the bookcase while gesturing for Cain to take one of the empty chairs, which he did after reluctantly leaving the door.
"Tudor?" Rawlins inquired.
"Working on getting a place of residence," Praedlyn replied with a sigh. "LeFevre's trying to get info off the spike, looking for a serial number or something to find out where it was driven. Or he's just blowing off the meeting, I don't know."
"They'll come back with something," Emily Droiden said with a nod and an earnest smile.
"I hope so," Gailman muttered. "I want to give Wayzard something to look at by the end of the day. "
Praedlyn rolled her eyes. "We're still waiting on surveillance from CSX, but because of the weather visibility was lousy last night."
"That's hardly reassuring," Gailman remarked. "We've got no witnesses and the only evidence is the murder weapon."
"And the body."
"Yeah, one dead ex-marine, wait 'til the press gets hold of that."
"Sorry if that puts a hitch in your mom's chamber of commerce statement, counsel, but we're doing our best."
Any further snapping was cut short by a rapid knock at the door, then it opened to admit an annoyed-looking Tudor and a furious LeFevre.
"Stand down, everyone," Tudor sighed. "We just got overridden by the Fed."
Rawlins frowned. "What?"
"FBI flagged the case," Tudor said as he settled into the chair next to Cain's. "Said they got three other homicides with the same COD down in Tulsa."
"I saw that when getting the files together," LeFevre added and perched on the credenza. "S'why I called OKC. They called Washington, had a little chat, and then they called me back to say they were taking the case, and that us 'folks' should 'stand by' in case they want our 'help'." He ceased his air-quotes and shook his head.
"Well," Gailman began diplomatically. "If they do need help-"
"We'll be sure to tell them how to get to Bobo's," Tudor muttered.
Cain stared at the folder in his hands until Praedlyn took it back from him. "Wait, this doesn't-"
"It's the Fed," Praedlyn said. "They've probably got a suspect in mind and don't want the locals bungling it on them."
She raised her eyebrows to Rawlins, who shrugged and glanced to LeFevre, who smiled crookedly in return. Rawlins sighed and nodded, and the smile brightened.
"Off record," Rawlins said firmly.
"Of course," LeFevre replied. "We'd never dream of interfering with an ongoing federal investigation. A little research can't do any harm."
"Won't even know we were looking," Emily Droiden put in while her husband nodded.
Gailman bit her lip, then nodded slowly as well. "A... well informed law enforcement is a well-prepared law enforcement."
"Well, since that's settled," Tudor began and sat up to turn to his partner. Unless you have any objection?"
Cain looked around the room. Gailman frowned slightly still, the Droidens smiled amicably, Praedlyn flipped through the file, LeFevre stared at him curiously, and Rawlins wore an unfathomably expression.
With a sigh Cain shook his head. "No, I'm fine."
"Good," Tudor said with a quick smile. "Now why the hell did you leave a nice, quiet job in Hays to put up with crap like this?"
"Huh?"
"This is where we get your life story," Praedlyn told him. "Cuts down the gossip if everything's out in the open."
Cain had only been working in this department for five hours but already knew he'd be damned if there would never be anything to gossip about. Instead he shrugged. "Not much to tell. My son and I were looking to move, saw the job opening, applied, and here I am."
"Divorced?" Gailman asked with a tilt of her head.
His heart froze over just a little bit more as his thumb went to the wedding band he refused to take off. "No. Widowed."
There was the usual gasps, muttered apologies, even a hushed "Oh no," from LeFevre and an ashamed blush from Gailman.
"She was murdered back in January," he continued before any of them asked. "The trail went cold and...Jeb and I couldn't stay there."
Sympathy and silence lingered until Tudor reached out and clapped a hand on his shoulder. "We'll make sure you're both taken care of."
"Where are you staying?" Hank asked.
"The Holiday Inn, for now," Cain replied. "We're still looking for a place to stay."
"I've got room," LeFevre announced instantly.
Cain grimaced. "That's generous of you but-"
"He really does," Praedlyn added. "And if you move in it gives me an excuse to get the rest of my stuff out."
"At least until you get settled somewhere," Rawlins said in his solemn tone, and that seemed to decide it.
"All right," Cain sighed and nodded to LeFevre. "Thank you."
They figured there would be a "temporary house"-warming party that Saturday since most everyone would be off shift. The meeting adjourned, the CSIs going to conduct their research, the ADA to contact the FBI, and the detectives to do paperwork.
The lieutenant remained behind. He opened a file on his computer, a profile for CAIN, W. Rawlins paused, and then in the field marked "confidential notes" typed two words.
He knows.
Act 4
Praedlyn and the Droidens were huddled around Hank's computer terminal as he hacked his way into the FBI's database and flagged the Calvin Schaffer file. "Who wants updates?" he asked.
"I do," Praedlyn replied. "And Brose will."
"All right, baby doll," he said and went back to typing. "You'll be automatically BBC'd onto anything that gets added to the file. Not that the flatfoots will know it."
*
A few desks over Tudor was giving Cain the rundown.
"Our vic lived on the east side," he said, pointing to the map he had spread out over Cain's blotter. "It's a rental, his is the only name on the lease. He's been there since April, and all of this would mean something if we were allowed in the place." Tudor sighed and ran his hand over his head.
"Does this happen a lot?" Cain asked as he looked over the already familiar shape of the city.
Tudor shook his head. "Not too often. They like claiming jurisdiction sometimes, throwing their weight around. I'm just sorry it had to happen on your first day."
"From the sound of thing we may still be on the case," Cain remarked with a nod to the IT team and Praedlyn. "Does that happen a lot?"
"It keeps them busy," Tudor replied. "Honestly we've got an overqualified CSI unit, not that I told you that. Speaking of-" He pointed to an area on the map northwest of downtown. "LeFevre's place is here. It's a old section of town, nice neighborhood. Pretty quiet."
Cain raised his eyebrows. "Quiet is good."
*
In the judge's chambers at the courthouse, Marvin Wayzard was hanging up his robe and singing softly to himself. A knock on the door made him jump and reach for his cane, but he relaxed once the door opened and ADA Gailman poked her head in.
"Sir?" she began. "I'm sorry to interrupt but-"
"Counselor, the correct for of address is 'your honor'," he told her as he waved for her to enter. "Come in, come in, what's this now?"
Gailman, dressed for business in a blouse, trousers, and jacket, stepped inside with a nod and closed the door behind her. "I'm sorry, si- your honor," she began and held out a file. "I have my report on the railroad case."
"The one the FBI took," he sighed and waked to his overstuffed desk chair, gesturing to his inbox as he sat down. "Ms. Gailman, do you have any idea why a federal agency would think our local law enforcement is too incompetent to handle a simple homicide?"
Gailman blinked, then shook her head and dropped the file into the box. "I don't think it i a question of competence, your honor. I believe in this instance the bureau was just taking responsibility for a case similar to one they were already working."
"Hm," Wayzard mused thoughtfully, then rested his elbows on the desk and steepled his fingers. "So it's all just a matter of protocol... or not."
Gailman bit her lip. Not this again. "Our people are cooperating as the bureau requested. We are still very much involved with the case and will remain so."
The judge nodded. "Good, good. Keep me posted on the progress. Am I correct in thinking the new detective is involved in this? Cain?"
"Yes," she replied, and relaxed marginally. "He's partnered with Tudor."
Wayzard nodded again and leaned forward. "Keep an eye on him, counsel, I want you to stay by his side at all costs."
She stared at him blankly. "You honor?"
"The sheriff in Hays had a few words about him," the judge continued. "The last thing we need is a loose cannon with a badge. Give me your word, as a representative of this city, that you will watch him."
Gailman blinked and shook her head. Watching after screwy detectives was hardly in her job description, but if it gave her an excuse to spend more time at the police station...
"I promise," she said with a confident smile. "I'll keep him in line."
*
Two teenage girls ran giggling down a hotel hallway. One stopped short in front of a door, the other collided with her, and they both shrieked.
"Shhh!" the second girl said loudly, finger to her lips. They giggled again and started pounding on the door, calling for Megan. The door opened, and the girls were presented with a very irritated Wyatt Cain. They stared at him, he glared at them.
"Megan and Tori got moved to room 415," he said firmly and pointed across the hall.
"Sorry!" the girls chorused, then made a show of quietly sneaking across the hall. Wyatt turned with a grumble, more giggling, pounding, and yelling come through as the door closed.
"Wave your gun at them next time," Jeb suggested from one of the double beds.
His father considered that for a moment, then shook his head and returned to the table which held a Topeka road map and a box of pizza. Wyatt took a slice and sat down in the uncomfortable hotel chair. "Don't want the department to think I'm more of a hick than they already do."
Jeb let his book (The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time, required summer reading) fall to his chest. "Maybe put a sign up?"
"They've gotta go to bed son," Wyatt said around a mouthful of pizza. He swallowed and continued. "Then they're gone tomorrow, and we're out of here the day after that."
Jeb scowled. "We're really just moving in with this guy?"
"Until we get on our feet," Wyatt replied. He was still looking over the map, mentally superimposing the one with crime statistics over it. "I'm... sorry I didn't plan this better. I wasn't thinking much beyond the job and getting you registered for school."
For a few moments it was quiet as Jeb tossed the book from hand to hand. "Mom would have found us a nice house."
Wyatt looked up and tried to find words, only to give up with a nod. "I know.
There was more giggling in the hall and then vigorous knocking on the door. Jeb glared and mimed holding a gun, while Wyatt shook his head and got up to deal with the newest group of high-on-sugar teenage girls.
*
The following day saw an odd procession out of the police station's back door: a gurney bearing a body bag being directed to an unmarked transport van by two technicians, two FBI agents (a square-jawed man with a crew cut and an Asian woman, both wearing suits), and two men in white lab coats (LeFevre and Raynz).
"You're sure we can't keep this one?" LeFevre asked, somewhat wistful.
"We're quite sure, Dr. LeFevre," Agent Nora Ving replied.
LeFevre sighed and stuffed his hands in his labcoat's pockets. "But we only get maybe a dozen murders a year, if we skip one we might get rusty."
The other agent, Mike Stonefield, snorted. "A dozen? Does that actually come out to one a month or-"
"Actually it's fascinating," Lefevre said, leaping onto the topic. "They seem to bunch up in November, February, and May. I'm doing a study on it, so outliers like this can be invaluable-"
"Very interesting, and if we need any more information we'll know who to ask," Ving snapped and held out her hand.
Defeated, LeFevre handed over an evidence bag holding the railroad spike. Raynz accepted the transfer papers from Stonefield then stepped back with a bored expression.
"Oh!" Stonefield said, pausing just before the agents got into their rental car. "I heard of this place somewhere out here, it's like an old time drive-in?"
LeFevre brightened. "Bobo's?"
"That's it, Travel Channel said it was good," the agent continued. "Either of y'all know how to get there?"
Raynz's glare managed to increase in force while LeFevre just shook his head. "Speaking both as a guy who likes burgers and a forensics pathologist, don't bother with it. You're better off with Burger King."
Stonefield frowned. "Really?"
"Sorry," LeFevre sighed. "Anyway, best of luck to you guys."
The agents made their exit, and LeFevre turned to Raynz with a smile.
"So. Doing anything for lunch?"
*
The lunch rush was typical for a Friday at Bobo's Drive-In. A carhop with fading ginger hair made her way to a classic black GTO, settled her tray on the driver's side window, and smiled down at the occupant. "There you go, hon, can I get you anything else?"
"Two slices of pie à la mode, please, Judy," Ambrose replied. She nodded and headed back to the restaurant. Ambrose handed Leona a red plastic basket holding a double cheeseburger with fries, then her soda, then took his own basket (same thing, only with onion rings) with a happy sigh.
They were both quiet for a few moments as they savored the first bites.
"I'll be around tonight for those boxes," Leona told him. "Don't forget to clean the bathrooms before they get there tomorrow."
"I won't forget," Ambrose said and took another bite of his burger. "God, it's the crispy outside that just-"
"And you're splitting the utilities with him," she continued. "I know you're short on cash still, so even if they're just there for a couple of months it will help."
He lifted his eyebrows. "You're actually concerned. And here I thought you were just encouraging him so I'd have some decent scenery."
"Last time I turned my back you ran out and bought this thing," she remarked and gestured around the car. "Have you heard back from the patent office?"
He ate an onion ring and nodded. "They want to see a working prototype."
"I would too if some nut on the prairie was pitching me a solar-power hologram projector. So my next question-"
"Lea-"
"Is going to be-"
"You know the ans-"
"How's the prototype coming, Brose?"
"It's not," he snapped. "Between running the lab and the two nights a week at the club I just don't have the time."
She shook her head. "Good thing you're getting a roommate so you can quit the club and go back to work on it, then. Right?"
Ambrose shrugged and glanced out the window. "Oh! Judy's got our pie!"
Leona sighed in frustration and thumped her head back on the headrest.
Act 5
A faded blue pickup truck hauling a rental trailer made its way along an old brick road that was lined with Victorian homes. behind the wheel was Wyatt Cain, who was frowning at house numbers. In the passenger seat his son Jeb tried to look unimpressed by the scenery.
"There it is," Wyatt said and angled the truck into a narrow driveway. He cut the engine and they both stared at the house.
"It's purple," Jeb stated.
"It's blue," Wyatt said.
Jeb looked at the plum-shaded front door and other detailing and shook his head. "It's got a lot of purple."
"Come on," his father sighed, unfastening his seatbelt. "It's home for now." They got their suitcases from the back of the truck's cab and started across the lawn.
The house was two stories with a steep front gable sheltering part of the attic, a large bay window on the second floor, and a veranda running from the front porch along the left side and to the back of the house. As they climbed the front steps the purple door opened to reveal Ambrose, dressed in a black and red striped shirt and jeans.
"Hey, you found it," he said with a wave, then turned back to the house and shouted "They're here!" He returned his attention to his guests with a grin. "Hi."
"Hello," Wyatt replied, blinking. "This is my son Jeb. Jeb, this is Dr. LeFevre."
"Nice to meet you," Ambrose said as they shook hands. "And, please, Ambrose is fine. Come on in, Lionel's getting the grill set up out back, you can at least get your suitcases to your rooms, then after lunch we can start on the boxes."
"Thanks," Wyatt said with a nod, then nudged Jeb who also muttered his thanks before stepping inside.
The foyer was small and lead immediately into the living room with stairs to the second floor off on the right. Beyond the living room was the kitchen, where they could hear Leona and Thomas Tudor arguing about mayonnaise.
"Built in 1887, it's one of the older homes in Potwin," Ambrose said over the noise. "It's been in my family since 190-"
"They don't care, Brose," Leona called and poked her head out of the kitchen. "Show them their rooms and help me keep this idiot from ruining the macaroni salad."
"I'm telling you," Thomas snapped. "If you don't get that Miracle Whip away from my bowl so help me-"
Ambrose looked pained. "We're not going near that. Upstairs."
As they ascended the steps Wyatt took in the antique furniture, the faded photographs, the cobwebs in the corners and the dust in the widow frames. "Nice place," he said diplomatically. "Lived in."
"Oh, this old dump?" Ambrose remarked with a smile over his shoulder. He got to the top of the stairs and gestured to the right. "Second door on the left, Wyatt. Jeb, you've got the attic - it's finished - so second door on the right. The steps are narrow but you should be fine."
"What's in the other rooms?" Jeb asked as he followed his father down the narrow hall.
"Bathroom," Ambrose replied and opened the first door on the right, then turned and opened the first one on the left. "My office. Master suit's down the other end of the hall," he added and pointed back over his shoulder. "I'll be down making sure my kitchen doesn't get destroyed, you can catch up with me there."
More thanks were offered, and the Cains got acquainted with their new accomidations. Wyatt's room was on the small side but that was plenty of room for him. Jeb found himself briefly distracted by the star chart poster pinned impossibly high on the steeply-pitched ceiling.
His father met him at the bottom of the attic steps. "All right?"
Jeb shrugged. "It's fine, I guess."
"We won't be here long," Wyatt reminded him and clapped a hand on his shoulder. "Let's go see if we can help with lunch."
They went back to the ground floor to discover Lionel calmly sliding hunks of chicken and vegetables onto skewers at the dining room table. Beside him was a cutting board with neatly formed hamburger patties and slices of cheddar cheese. Through the back window they could see Leona and Thomas working on covering a long picnic table with a blue and white checked cloth.
"Welcome home," Lionel said with a faint smile.
"Home for now," Wyatt allowed ruefully and nodded to the preparations. "Need any help?"
Lionel shook his head, then hummed and reconsidered. "How are you with burgers?"
"I can hold my own," Wyatt remarked and picked up the cutting board. He glanced at his son. "Want to give me a hand?"
Jeb had been studying the various magnets and other items arrayed on the refrigerator absently. He shrugged. "I'll be out in a bit."
Wyatt sighed and nodded, then followed Lionel out. Jeb took the opportunity to do a bit more snooping and so turned his attention to the cork message board on the kitchen wall.
There was a to-do list "for Saturday," mostly crossed off. All of the entries were written in a neat but hasty scrawl except for the last item written in large, feminine script. "BEHAVE!" There was also a list of take-out places with phone numbers, a police memo about updated municipal codes dated from May 16, and a child's crayon doodle of what might have been Ambrose and Leona, each smiling and holding a piece of paper labeled "evidents."
Thank u Dr. Laferf and Miss Lea, was written across the top. It was signed Luv, Taniqua.
Jeb heard feet on steps from somewhere below him, and then a door in the living room opened. Ambrose stepped through, one arm curled around a large box while he closed the basement door behind him. He froze for a moment when he saw Jeb, then broke into a grin.
"I'm going to get used to that," he promised as he entered the kitchen. He placed the box on the counter, then opened it and lifted out a large punch bowl made of green glass. He carried the bowl to the sink and set about washing it.
Jeb kept himself busy by opening a cabinet door, which happened to contain he pantry.
"While you're in there could you grab me the lemonade mix?" Ambrose asked. "Bottom shelf on the left, I think."
The plastic container was located and Jeb brought it over to the counter and let it down. "Here."
"Thanks, Jeb," Ambrose replied, then blinked. "Huh. You don't here that name very often."
"No you don't, Ambrose," Jeb said pointedly. He went to the other side of the counter where two stools were arranged, pulled one out, and settled upon it.
"I guess Wyatt's not that common either," Ambrose mused, then beamed. "Hey, we've all got something in common already." He finished rinsing the bowl and set it aside, then grabbed a towel to dry his hands.
Jeb sighed, then spotted a phone book which had been left out and pulled it closer so he could leaf through it while Ambrose made lemonade.
"I know you've got this whole brooding teenager thing going on," Ambrose began out of nowhere. "And you've got more reason than most. New town, new school, your dad's got you moved in with somebody you don't know. And..." He stopped, wisely, instead of bringing up the boy's mother. "Let's just say i get it, okay? So if you ever want to talk-"
"What?"
Ambrose shrugged and went to the freezer for ice. "Nothing, just... here to help if you want it."
Jeb flipped the book closed and slid off the stool. "We're not going to be here long," he said and trudged out the back door.
With a frown Ambrose replayed the conversation, mouthing his words for a moment, then sighed and rolled his eyes. "Oh no, Ambrose," he snapped to the empty kitchen. "That wasn't at all creepy."
*
From here on you can count on all things going
The way they must have from the start
All you feel is the current flowing through you
And seizing your infected heart
It was not long before the picnic table was set, burgers and kebobs, corn on the cob with butter, macaroni salad (without Miracle Whip), cornbread and other fixings. Ambrose, Leona, and Thomas took one side of the table with Lionel, Jeb, and Wyatt opposite them.
Once everyone had a full plate Lionel cleared his throat and lifted his blue Solo cup of lemonade. Soon they all had their cups raised and were looking at him expectantly.
I found God in a catalytic converter
In Topeka on a Monday night...
"To new friends," he began, and Ambrose and Leona smiled slightly. "New partners," and here Thomas nodded. "And new beginnings."
Wyatt and Jeb looked at each other, resigned and resolved, then glanced around the table at the people who, for better or for worse, were going to shape their lives.
"New beginnings," Wyatt echoed, and the phrase was repeated as the cups came together over the center of the table.
...every saint has a past, every sinner has a future...
fade to black
end credits