NCIS. Abby/Kate. 020. Colorless.
Author's Note: Story 99! You know what that means! And, with this story, my word count is 205,830 words. I'm proud of it, but even MORE proud of the fact that the first 100,000 words took me 70 stories. So if you combine the first seventy stories, they'd be shorter than the last 29 that I've written! :D
Title: Beyond the Pale
Fandom: NCIS/Da Vinci's Inquest/Cold Case
Characters: Abigail Sciuto, Caitlin Todd, Jethro Gibbs, Tony DiNozzo, Tim McGee, Donald "Ducky" Mallard, Detective Angela Kosmo, Detective Mick Leary, Detective Suki Taylor, Dominic Da Vinci, Detective Lilly Rush, Detective Scotty Valens, Detective Brian Curtis
Prompt: 020 Colorless
Word Count: 7,740
Rating: R
Spoilers: Da Vinci's Inquest, last two seasons; Cold Case, Season 2 finale; NCIS, sparse.
Summary: A Navy deserter, a five-year-old corpse in Philadelphia and a homicide in Vancouver, British Columbia, all come together in one bizarre case.
Author's Notes: Three series?! Three towns and two different countries?! *is obviously drunk* There's also a fourth series hidden in there if you know where to look. ;-) Oh, and Deputy Mayor Flaherty is ~*NOT*~ a Spin City reference. *G* Oh, and another case of explaining my prompt... I saw Colorless and thought of the title, "Beyond the Pale." Pale, originally meaning a region one country holds in another. So. Two countries. Hey, crossover! "Beyond the Pale" also means behavior outside the bounds of propriety, which fits! :D So... a long way to go from Colorless, but I think it works!
Little Damn Table
November 11, 2001 - Philadelphia, PA.
Grover Olsen paced in front of the cage of steel that covered the pawn shops front door and windows, breathing into his hands every now and then, muttering under his breath. The rain was turning to sleet, the pavement mirroring the halogen street lights up and down the street. When the van finally pulled up, splashing gutter water onto his sneakers, he pulled the back door open and jumped inside. "Jesus, take your own sweet time, why don't you?" He looked at the driver, realizing he didn't recognize him. "Hey, who is...?"
"Easy, Blue Muppet," the passenger said, taking a long drag off his cigarette before stubbing it in his ashtray. He turned and faced the shivering young man in the back seat. "You bring 'em?"
Grover dug into his jacket and withdrew a small stack of photographs. He shoved them into the passenger's hands and glanced nervously at the driver. "Does he ever say anything?"
The passenger glanced at the driver. "No," he said simply. He turned back around and started to flip through the photos. "Anyone see you?"
"Ha," Grover scoffed. "You think I'm stupid?"
Passenger and Driver exchanged a look.
"No," Grover sighed. "No one saw me. Look, can I get my cut now?"
"Eager," the passenger said. "Patience, Blue Muppet. All will be taken care of in due time."
Grover shifted uncomfortably, leaning forward to peer through the windshield. "Look, if I can get my cut, you can drop me off here, I'll be out of your hair."
"Sit back and shut up," the passenger sighed.
Grover reluctantly complied, hugging himself and staring out the window. The van pulled off the main stretch and parked in a narrow alleyway. "Come on," the passenger said before climbing out of the van. The driver joined him and Grover had no choice but to follow. Halfway down the alley, the driver turned and held out his hand. The passenger handed the photos over and the driver turned his back to them again.
The passenger looked back at Grover. "Relax, son. We're not going to do anything untoward. You look like you're expecting a double-cross." He laughed and turned around in time to catch the driver's bullet between his eyes. Grover cursed and wet himself, stumbling over his feet. The driver changed the angle of the gun and Grover saved himself by falling flat on his ass.
He scrambled on all-fours through the mud, screaming at the top of his lungs as he tried to put as much distance as possible between him and the murderer. He looked over his shoulder, surprised to see the alleyway behind him deserted. He got to his feet and ran from the alley, waiting to wake up, moving down the sidewalk in a half-stumble.
The next morning, Grover Olsen was on the front page. A sketch of his face had been produced by an insomniac who lived above the alley where the van's passenger - a crooked private investigator named James Kramer - had been shot and killed. The newspaper reported that he'd been "seen fleeing" the scene of the crime and revealed that he had been employed by the private eye's firm several times for snitching and go-fer duties.
When the police raided his apartment, he was nowhere to be found. An all-points-bullet was put out, to no avail. Grover Olsen had vanished.
The file on the murder of James Kramer was placed in a white box, stacked among hundreds of identical copies and forgotten.
Present Day, Falls Church, Virginia
Ensign Graham Oliver carried his rucksack over his shoulder, strolling down the street and enjoying the sunshine. Ten months at sea, his first ship assignment out of the academy, and he was grateful to be home again. The Navy had molded the rat he'd once been into a fine young man. Once his five years was up, he would consider making a career out of it.
But that would be in another four years. For now, he was eternally grateful to have solid ground under his feet once more.
He was checking out a pair of sunglasses - more importantly checking out the sailor groupie that manned the sunglass kiosk - when he spotted a familiar face in the crowd. He raised a hand without thinking, expecting his brain to tell him it was a former classmate or a shipmate.
The blood froze in his veins when he recognized the snarling grin of the driver from that long-ago evening. He dropped the sunglasses, stuttered a half-coherent explanation and ran from the mall.
The silent, nameless driver ran after him, but lost him in the crowd.
For the second time in five years, Grover Olsen had disappeared without a trace.
---
Special Agent Caitlin Todd let the water assault her, splashing against her upturned face and letting it flow where it may. She'd been awake for most of the night dealing with her sick girlfriend, atoning for being the one to get her sick in the first place. She stepped out of the shower and dried off, wrapping a robe around herself before heading into the bedroom.
Abby Sciuto was sprawled on top of the blankets, staring blankly at the far wall. Kate smiled and walked over, putting the back of her hand against Abby's cheek. "Hey," she whispered. "Feeling any better?"
"The guy who cleans port-a-johns," Abby said through a stuffy nose. "He leaves work after pulling a double shift. Along the way, he passes through a cow pasture. He sinks ankle-deep in mud. He steps in road kill. When he finally gets home, he puts his boots next to the fire where everything cakes on nice and good. Lick the bottom of his right boot from heel to toe... and I'll still trade places with you."
Kate laughed and leaned down, sealing her lips around Abby's. Abby sighed into the kiss and Kate said, "I'd trade places with you if I could."
"Yeah, yeah, yeah. I'm not talking to you. You refused to kill me last night."
Kate kissed Abby's eyebrow and said, "Get well. I have to go deal with a UA sailor." She went to the closet and doffed her robe, looking for something to wear. Abby sat up, obviously not a fan of gawking while upside-down. She plopped down on the mattress, staring at Kate's bare back. "Are you going into work today?"
Abby groaned.
"Take that as a no," Kate said without turning. She put on her underwear and found a pair of dark trousers. She sat on the edge of the bed to pull them on and said, "I guess Gibbs will find a replacement from Norfolk for the day." She turned and stroked Abby's cheek. "Want me to bring you something at lunch? Soup? Some broth...?"
"No food," Abby groaned. "Poison me."
"Stop it," Kate said, leaning down and kissing Abby again. She walked to the closet and found a purple sweater. "Be good and I'll draw you a bath when I get home. Bubbles and oils and all kinds of girly stuff I'm sure you'll hate."
Abby stuck her tongue out as Kate's head disappeared under the sweater. They said their good-byes, Kate promising to call when she could, and left the apartment. Abby rolled onto her back and covered her face with a pillow.
---
Ensign Graham Oliver's apartment defined spartan. A couch, a TV on a bare wooden stand and a few magazines were all that occupied the space he called home. No photographs, no personal touches... Tony DiNozzo walked the perimeter of the room, looking for a sign the apartment was a real living space and not some eerie set dressing for a reality show. He ran his gloved finger along the edge of the mantle, relieved to find a thick layer of dust.
"At least we know it's real," he said, flicking the dust at McGee. The newest addition to the team waved a hand in front of his face in case the dust actually reached him. "I'm telling you, Probie," Tony said, wandering back towards the kitchenette, "this place is not ringing true."
"Well, Ensign Oliver has been at sea for the past ten months," McGee said, getting to his feet. "And before that, he had quarters at the Naval Academy. Maybe he just hasn't had time to decorate."
Tony turned to face him. "Decorate? Men do not decorate. Men will leave something in what eventually becomes its permanent place."
"I decorated my apartment when I moved in."
"I say again," Tony muttered, moving around the couch to sketch another part of the room.
Kate entered and said, "I talked to the landlord. Paid rent in advance for when he'd be at sea. Apparently a good tenant for the time he's been here. No complaints from the neighbors. No girlfriends, no acquaintances in the building... no strings attached kind of guy."
"Sounds like McGee," Tony said.
"I'll have you know I had a date last night," McGee said.
"Pity dates don't count."
"It was not a pity date!" McGee insisted.
"Let's save the recap for gym class," Gibbs said, stepping into the apartment. "What've we got so far?"
"Sorry... boss, um..." McGee flipped open his notebook and read, "No sign of foul play. He left in a hurry, barely bothered to pack anything from the look of his bedroom..."
"Or he packed everything, from the look of the rest of his apartment," Tony said.
McGee ignored him. "Joined the Naval Academy five years ago. Moved here when he graduated, uh, assigned to the USS Whidbey Island and spent the past ten months on station in the Persian Gulf. His CO reported that he was hard-working, kept in line, had no problems whatsoever with his service."
"So why would a kid... no issues with the Navy, no personal issues... suddenly go missing?"
"That's what we're here to find out, DiNozzo," Gibbs said. He handed his coffee cup to McGee and said, "Nice work on the background."
Gibbs walked out and McGee beamed at Tony, holding up the coffee. "Nice work."
"Yeah, we heard him," Tony muttered, finishing his sketches.
---
Gibbs dialed the cell phone in the car, nestling it between his ear and shoulder as it rang. After a few minutes, the phone was answered and a stuffy-nosed Abby said, "Are you calling to put me out of my misery?"
He smirked. "Still feeling bad, eh, Abs?"
"What was your--sniff--first clue?"
"Want me to bring by a Caf-Pow!?"
"Ugh," Abby groaned. "No, even the thought..."
Gibbs chuckled. "All right, Abby. I may drop by later to make sure you're okay."
"I'm not home."
"Where are you?"
"A friend's."
"They taking good care of you?"
"Mm."
"They the one who got you sick?"
"Um..."
He smirked. "Okay. Call me later, let me know when you start feeling like yourself again." He hung up, slipping the phone back into his coat pocket.
Funny how Abby seemed to have caught the same cold Kate had been fighting a week ago. Despite all of them working together, Abby had been the only one it had been passed on to. It was enough to make someone wonder what she and Abby had been doing that she hadn't done with anyone else in the office...
Smirking, he pulled into the NCIS garage and put all thoughts of Abby's illness out of his mind.
---
McGee frowned and leaned back in his chair, staring at the screen. "This is weird."
"Did you go to that website Tony told you about?" Kate asked, rising and moving towards McGee's desk. "Cause really, human eyes should not be forced to see that kind of stuff."
"No," McGee muttered, typing in a password and navigating deeper. "It's just... it's weird. I'm doing background on Graham Oliver and there's... overlap."
Tony's interest was now piqued. He joined Kate beside McGee's desk. "What kind of overlap?"
"Apparently, he attended his junior year of high school twice."
"So maybe he flunked gym," Tony said. "Happens to the best of people, right, Probie?"
McGee glared at him. "I told you that in confidence. And it was a fencing class, not gym. So..."
"What's so weird about repeating a grade?" Gibbs asked, appearing behind Tony.
"Boss. Uh..." McGee turned back to the computer. "It's not that he repeated it that's so strange... it's when he repeated it. Apparently, he attended the eleventh grade twice... in the same year. At different schools, different towns, everything."
"How is that possible?"
"It's not," Gibbs said. "Unless the person we're looking for is not Graham Oliver."
"An assumed name?"
Gibbs put his coffee down and took a seat. "Whoever he was, he took the name of someone with a clean record, stroked it until it fit for him and voila. Instant identity."
"It couldn't be that easy," Kate said.
"Identity theft?" McGee said. "Give me twenty minutes and a little personal information and I could be DiNozzo by tonight."
"In name only," Tony assured him.
"Find out who this guy really is," Gibbs said. "He was hiding from something; let's see if it finally caught up to him."
Tony, Kate and McGee all returned to their desks to begin investigating the suddenly nameless missing sailor.
---
McGee looked up from his computer and frowned at Tony. The "senior field agent" was staring off into space, drumming his fingertips on the edge of his desk. McGee sighed and shook his head. He'd already spent the last half hour determining the real Graham Oliver had died in a car accident during his junior year. Whoever their missing ensign was, he was NOT Graham Oliver. While he'd been digging up all that info, Tony had been humming to himself, reading his email, programming his cell phone...
Unfortunately, Gibbs had gone downstairs to the evidence garage to check on something, so he wasn't around to catch Tony's slacking. But it was more than McGee could take. "You know," he said. "You could try helping."
Tony leaned back, lacing his fingers over his stomach and turning his chair to face McGee. "I could. But then I may solve the entire case on my own." He smiled. "Wouldn't want you to feel useless there, McGee."
"How very altruistic of you," Gibbs said, rounding the corner and heading for his desk. "What've you got, DiNozzo?"
Tony stood and said, "Something I saw at the guy's apartment. According to the 'Graham Oliver' bio that McGee slapped together, he's never been outside of Virginia. But I talked to a guy on the Whidbey Island, told me that Oliver was crazy about cheesesteak."
"So?" Kate asked. "I like cheesesteak."
"Yes, but how many have you had shipped in from Geno's? It's a quaint little neon-covered shop located... in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania."
"If you're ordering cheesesteak through the mail, that'd be the point of origin," Gibbs said.
"Right," Tony said. "But the guy was a huge 76er's fan. He used to gamble with other shipmates on games." He turned and pointed at McGee. "And what was the back of the single windbreaker we found in his apartment?"
McGee said, "An eagle."
"Philadelphia Eagles, the Sixers, cheesesteaks... We know that Graham Oliver showed up five years ago at the latest, when he joined the Naval Academy. I looked it up online, there's a group photo of his class and, unless the imposter had plastic surgery after his identity theft, it's the same guy."
"Wow," Kate said. "And you did all of this in the past half-hour."
Tony shrugged. "I also answered some email. You know. Correspondence."
"McGee," Gibbs started.
"Already on the phone to the Philadelphia police department, boss," McGee reported. "I'll ask about missing persons from five years ago that match the description."
"Kate," Gibbs said.
"I'll check his phone records, see if he's contacted anyone from Philadelphia recently."
"DiNozzo..."
Tony raised his eyebrows.
"Good work."
Tony smirked and headed back to his desk.
---
Scotty Valens walked down the row of white boxes, scanning for a name. He knew he'd seen that sketch, dozens of times... hell, hundreds of times... in the newspaper. The midnight murder, the skeevy PI, the whole Chinatown thing. He scanned the boxes and found it. Kramer. He pulled the box, sitting it on the ground and removing the lid. The sketch was sitting on top, the face staring up at him.
Grover Olsen had fled Philadelphia, landed in Virginia with a new identity and enrolled in the Naval Academy. He smiled and picked up the box, carrying it back to the bullpen.
---
"Got a hit from a Detective Scott Valens in Philadelphia," McGee said. "Apparently, Ensign Graham Oliver matches the eyewitness sketch of a murder suspect named Grover Olsen. They're faxing the sketch over now, but he's already compared it with the photo of Oliver that I emailed to him."
Kate abandoned the phone record search and joined them at the fax machine. The sketch from Philadelphia arrived and Gibbs held it up to the plasma, visually comparing the two faces of Grover Olsen. "Looks like a match," he said.
Tony shrugged. "Well, the nostrils are little more flared in the picture. His eyes are a little..." Gibbs turned and glared at him and Tony said, "Right. Definitely a match, boss. No doubt in my mind, either."
Gibbs handed the photo to McGee. "Get Philly back on the phone, tell them that Olsen may be on his way back."
"That's doubtful," Kate interjected. "He ran from there, stole an identity... I think that after all this time, that's the last place he would go."
"We didn't discover his false identity until after he disappeared," Tony said. "Maybe he's counting on it being such a good fake that he could go back for a while."
Kate shook her head. "He overlapped. We figured this out too soon. It was a good job, but not perfect enough to bet his freedom on it."
"Why do you think he ran?" Gibbs asked.
Kate pondered the question, staring at the screen. "He would have to be scared. He had everyone fooled. No one was looking into his past, his CO was impressed with him... he was plain. And no one is suspicious of plain. I think he ran because someone had figured him out. Someone from Philadelphia saw him or contacted him."
"So he's running scared," Gibbs suggested.
"My bet is he'll try to flee the country," Kate said. "Last time he ran, he came here from Philadelphia. It wasn't far enough. I think he's going to take the next step."
"Airports?"
"We've already sent his name and picture to the local airports," McGee said.
"Let's hope it's enough."
---
Graham Oliver, born Grover Olsen, stood in line and nervously glanced over his shoulder. When it came his turn to step up to the counter, he presented his ID and smiled, trying not to look nervous. "How you doing today?" he asked. "I need a flight to Vancouver, British Columbia."
The woman behind the counter took his ID and glanced at it before beginning the procedures. He drummed his fingers on the counter, still waiting for the other shoe to drop. He'd driven out of Virginia, hoping to get far enough away that his name and picture wouldn't appear on anyone's no-fly list. His military ID would help him clear some security hurdles, but if they'd already put...
"How will you be paying for this, sir?"
He cleared his throat and pushed a credit card across the counter. It wasn't his, but using his own card would throw up red flags all over the place. Not to mention giving away his escape route to the killer.
The card went through and he breathed a sigh of relief. Maybe he'd get still be able to get away after all...
The killer who had driven the white van so many years ago kept his head down, hidden behind aviator sunglasses and a fake beard. He had tried to get the little twerp at a rest stop but had missed his chance. No way to get to him in an airport without drawing attention... but fortunately he'd gotten close enough to hear his prey's destination.
He stepped up to the counter and smiled sweetly. "One ticket to Vancouver, please."
---
Kate left NCIS at the end of the day with a tall Styrofoam cup of Ducky's mother's soup in hand. He'd heard of Abby's illness and brought in the soup as a "surefire Mallard family recipe, dating back to the Black Plague." As she headed for her car, a woman behind her said, "Pardon me, are you an NCIS agent?"
She turned, waiting for the blonde to catch up with her. "Special Agent Caitlin Todd," Kate said. "Can I help you?"
"Philadelphia PD. Detective Lilly Rush," the other woman said, flashing her badge. "I'm here about the Grover Olsen case."
"Then you hi-jacked the right agent," Kate said. She frowned and checked her watch. "Wait a minute. Philadelphia? What did you do, teleport here?"
Rush smiled. "Do you mind if I walk with you?"
"Sure," Kate said reluctantly. Lilly fell into step beside her. "The guy we've been looking for... Grover Olsen. You found him in the Navy?"
Kate nodded. "He'd enlisted under a false ID. We're still trying to figure out how he managed to do that." She unlocked her car door and said, "I need to drop this off while it's still hot. Care to talk while I drive?"
"No problem."
They got into the car and Kate handed the soup to Lilly. "Smells good," Lilly said. "The man we believe Olsen killed was a private investigator. Olsen worked for him as a go-fer. We're thinking that, in the course of his work, he picked up enough know-how to get a false identity."
"Or steal one."
Lilly nodded and looked out the window.
"Been to Washington before?"
"Once," Lilly said. She let the matter drop, so Kate didn't press.
They rode in silence until Kate reached her apartment. "I'll just be a minute." She made it to the elevator before Lilly called out her name. She turned and Lilly held up the soup. "You left this in the car."
Kate exhaled and shook her head. "Thanks. I guess I'm a little more eager to see the person I was bringing it to." She hesitated and motioned at the open elevator door. "You... want to come up? Like I said, I'll just be in and out."
Lilly seemed reluctant but, after a moment, said, "Sure." They got into the elevator and Lilly said, "So, leave work for fifteen minutes at the end of the day, run some soup home and then right back to the grind?"
Kate smiled. "Something tells me it's a pattern you're not unfamiliar with."
Lilly glanced at the elevator numbers to hide her smile.
In the apartment, Kate asked Lilly to stay in the front room as she went into the bedroom. Abby was sprawled across the mattress, legs tangled in the sheet. Her hair was a creature unto itself, her face buried in the crook of her arm. She was wearing a t-shirt and boxer shorts, moaning incoherently. Kate sat on the edge of the bed and leaned down, kissing her temple. "Hey," she whispered. "Hey, feeling any better?"
Abby lifted her face and glared at her. "I smell something hot."
"Mrs. Mallard made you soup."
Abby rolled over onto her back and said, "Get a funnel. Pour it in my mouth. Tell her I loved it when you see her at my funeral."
Kate laughed and stood up, moving Abby until she was laying the right way. As she was rearranging her feet, Abby glanced over Kate's shoulder and saw a reflection in the hall mirror. "Is there someone else in the apartment?" she whispered.
"Yeah. Lilly Rush, Philadelphia homicide."
Abby leaned forward and said, "She's gorgeous."
Kate looked over her shoulder. "She's pale."
"Like a porcelain doll."
"Like a vampire."
Abby raised her eyebrows and Kate rolled her eyes. "Like a non-sexy vampire." She kissed Abby's lips and brushed her cheek. "Get some rest. I'm going back to work for another few hours."
Abby clutched the hem of Kate's shirt and Kate smiled. "Wake me when you get home."
"It might be late. And you need some rest."
"Wake me. I want to see you."
Kate smiled and kissed Abby again, tucking a hair behind her ear. She handed Abby the soup and said, "I'll call you later to say good-night."
She left the bedroom and crossed to the kitchen, grabbing a spoon and hurrying back. "Just one more sec," she apologized to Lilly. She gave Abby the spoon, kissed her good-bye again and then slipped back into the main room. "Sorry about that."
"It's no problem," Lilly said.
They stepped out of the apartment and Lilly said, "I... also don't want you to think your relationship is a problem." Kate turned. "I heard her voice. I don't want you to think... you know... that..."
"Thanks," Kate said, interrupting her. "I shouldn't have been so careless, bringing a stranger upstairs..."
"I understand," Lilly said. "One of the detectives in my squad is gay."
"Really?" Kate said, stepping into the elevator. "The guy Tony talked to?"
"I don't know. Did he talk to..."
---
When Kate arrived back at the office, she found that Lilly's partner was already there. While she was talking with Lilly in the car, Scotty had been upstairs at NCIS getting the rundown from DiNozzo. They exchanged introductions, and Kate rounded to the back of her desk. She took a seat, trying not to notice Lilly's ass when she leaned against the edge of the desk. She swiveled her chair so she was facing Gibbs.
Gibbs shook their hands and offered, "We're glad for the help, Detectives. McGee, tell 'em what we've got so far."
"We've given his name and photo to all local airports and air fields and an APB out on his car. No luck so far. We don't know if that means he's gone to ground or if we were just too late getting to him."
"What about contacts?"
"Dr. Sherman is checking on those now."
"Who?" Tony asked, finally looking away from Lilly.
"Dr. Gregory Sherman. He's filling in for Abby while she's out sick."
Tony sneered and leaned back. Kate caught Lilly glance in her direction but didn't give the cop any hints. "Bank activity?"
"No withdrawals from his personal bank account. As near as we can tell, none of his friends have loaned him any money recently."
Gibbs said, "So he's running with just the money in his pockets."
"Not necessarily," Kate said. "He was able to create a back-history for himself. Why couldn't he just do it again? Maybe he's using someone else's ID and credit cards."
"Is there any way you could check that out, McGee?"
McGee sighed. "Well... we could go over his computers, check his history and credit ratings, see what we can find out. But... we'll have to use Dr. Sherman."
"I thought that was the point of having Dr. Sherman," Gibbs said.
"Yes and I have no problem using him," McGee said. "It's just... well, he's no Abby."
"Good to hear I'm -sniffle- so indispensable."
Everyone turned as Abby walked into the room, slipping between Lilly and Kate's desk. Kate smirked at the obvious display of jealousy and stood. "Abby, shouldn't you be getting some rest."
"Me? No. I'm fine-b."
"You may be 'finb'," Gibbs said. "But you should be at home. In bed. Recuperating."
"You need me here, Gibbs. McGee just said so."
McGee glanced nervously at Gibbs. "It... w-would go a lot faster if she helped."
Gibbs sighed and walked over to Abby, raising a finger to her. "You sit down. You let McGee and Sherman do the heavy lifting. You got me, Abby?"
"Yes, sir, Boss." She glanced at Lilly once more before heading to the elevators. Kate stood, slipping out of the bullpen and chasing after her. Alone in the elevator, Abby said, "So. The little strumpet already has her ass-print on your desk."
Kate smirked. "Are you jealous?"
Abby pressed her lips together, watching the numbers count down to her lab. After a long hesitation, she said, "Yep."
Kate stepped forward and grabbed a handful of Abby's hair, drawing her head down and whispering against her lips. "I don't like blondes." She kissed Abby and released her, straightening her back just as the doors slid open.
Abby cleared her throat and said, "I may have just given your cold back to you."
"Considering how you got it in the first place, I'll consider it fair play."
Abby grinned and stepped out of the elevator. "You want to hang out down here? Keep me from passing out?"
"Would love to," Kate said. "But right now, I have to go rub Lilly's ass imprint off my desk." She grinned as the doors slid shut on Abby's pinched expression.
---
Lilly and Scotty hung around for another hour before leaving to find a hotel. Gibbs and the rest of the NCIS team had promised to keep them in the loop, but the two detectives weren't holding their breath. They'd dealt with enough federal agencies to know how things went.
They got rooms at a moderately priced hotel, called Stillman to let him know they'd gotten in touch with the NCIS and headed to their rooms. Lilly slipped out of her shoes, sitting on the edge of the bed and staring at herself in the mirror. She'd lied to Agent Todd; she hadn't just heard the girlfriend's voice. She'd caught a glimpse of them.
Todd had been sitting on the edge of the bed, leaning over and lighting brushing the other woman's hair. It was so tender. So... intimate. How long had it been since she'd felt a touch like that?
She let her hair down, running her fingers through it. Scotty would most likely welcome a visit from her... but she'd never live it down. She knew she'd regret that in the morning. She found her shoes and put them back on, heading downstairs to the bar. She was stirring a glass of water when a gentle voice next to her said, "Wow. Vodka? This late?"
Lilly looked over at the redhead. She was wearing a business suit, the top buttons undone signaling the end of a very long day. Lilly tilted her glass and shrugged apologetically. "Water."
"I know," the woman said. She told the bartender, "I'll have what she's having. I'm Dana."
"Lilly."
"Business or pleasure?"
"Here on business," Lilly said, finishing off her glass. "Looking to add a little pleasure." She looked down at her fingers, wrapped around the empty glass. She couldn't bear to be forward, couldn't look people in the eye when she laid her emotions out.
Dana reached over and touched her wrist and Lilly looked up.
Maybe she'd have someone run their fingers through her hair after all.
---
Abby was half-dead by the time Kate got her home. "You shouldn't have come in to work," Kate admonished, dumping her purse and keys in the front hall.
"Jealous," Abby sighed.
Kate rolled her eyes and walked Abby down the hallway. She turned on the bathroom light, sitting Abby on the edge of the tub and drawing a bath. As the water ran, she got Abby out of her clothes and helped her get into the rising water. "You gonna give me a bath?" Abby murmured.
"To start with," Kate smiled.
Abby grinned, tired but intrigued.
Vancouver, British Columbia, Canada
Angela Kosmo lay on her back, staring at the ceiling. The sleeping woman next to her was curled into the fetal position, arms crossed over her chest. Coming over here had been a bad idea. Staying had been even worse. She was about to try slipping silently from the apartment when her cell phone began vibrating on the night stand.
Suki jerked and glanced over her shoulder, arching her back and pressing her face into the pillow. Angie sat up, flipping the phone open. "It's me," she said. "Yeah." She got out of bed, finding her jeans and pulling them on with one hand. When she looked over her shoulder, she saw Suki had rolled onto her back and was watching her dress.
"Okay. I'll be right there." She hung up and found her blouse, searching for her underwear.
"Gotta head in?" Suki asked.
"Yeah," Angie said, pulling her blouse on. "Body in Stanley Park. Chick thinks he was beaten before he died, so..."
"Will I see you later?"
"Uh," Angie hesitated. "I don't know. Maybe. Yes."
She crossed to the bed and bent down, kissing Suki goodbye. Suki held her arm and said, "If you regret last night..."
"I don't. I promise. I'll see you tonight if not at work."
"Okay," Suki said, laying back. Angie found her shoes and headed out. Suki sighed and climbed out of bed. No point in trying to sleep for another thirty minutes.
---
Mick Leary was already at his desk when Angela came in, looking up and watching as she took a seat behind her desk. "Long night?"
She glanced at him without answering. "You not working with Leo today?"
Mick shook his head. "Took some personal time. Lana. You know."
Angie nodded and said, "What's the body look like?"
"Ground beef," Mick said, passing her the file. "He's down with Donato right now, trying to figure out what exactly happened. We found him down by the shore, bloody, torn all to hell." He leaned back and stroked his upper lip. "ID was on him, but that won't be much help."
"Why not?" Angie asked, glancing up from the file.
Mick held up three driver's licenses. "Guy had an alias for every day of the week." He shuffled them like playing cards and said, "So he's either John Doe, Michael Hastings, Graham Oliver or Grover Olsen."
"How do we know which name is the real one?"
"If Maria can't ID him from fingerprints, we'll put all the names out on the wire. Hope someone's looking for him."
---
Virginia,
Gibbs and McGee were the first ones in the next morning, Gibbs taking a seat behind his desk while McGee checked the fax machine. A fresh delivery was resting in the paper tray and he pulled it up, sipping his coffee as he read the short message. By the second paragraph, he was completely awake. "Boss..."
"What is it, McGee?" Gibbs asked from his desk.
"Um... good news. I think." He turned. "Or... very bad."
"One or the other," Gibbs said, reaching out for the fax.
McGee handed it over as Tony walked in. "Hey. What's going on?"
"We, uh... found Graham Oliver."
"That's great!" Tony said.
"Not so great," Gibbs said, standing up and handing the fax back to McGee. "He's dead."
---
Gibbs headed to MTAC to video-conference with the Vancouver coroner. As he topped the stairs, he heard Ducky call him from below. "Jethro! I heard that you were going to conference with the Vancouver, B.C. coroner."
"That's right."
"Might I sit in? I believe I may know the fellow."
"Come on up, Duck," Gibbs said. The MTAC room was kept almost entirely dark, lit by the giant screen that was currently displaying a stone wall. As Gibbs settled in, standing as usual in front of the screen, a man appeared in front of the stone wall. He moved a hand through his hair, squinting towards the camera and adjusting his glasses. "Here?" he asked.
"Just... look right in there," a woman said. She leaned into frame, looking at the lens before disappearing again. "It's connected."
He cleared his throat. "Hello?"
"We're here, Dr. Da Vinci."
"It's, ah, Mr. Da Vinci, actually," the man said. "Dominic Da Vinci." He looked past the camera and said, "Is that them, Helen? Oh. Oh, okay. I can see you. Hello, ah, NCIS."
Gibbs pushed past the formalities. "Mr. Da Vinci, we're in a bit of a hurry here..."
"Yeah, oh, yeah, I understand. I have the coroner's report on Mr. Olsen right here." He opened the file and cleared his throat, adjusting his glasses again. "Okay. He was found in Stanley Park this morning at about 5:44 AM. He'd been beaten severely. The cause of death was determined to be blood loss, due to several incisions on his abdomen and face. He was beaten, stabbed and left to die."
"Fingerprints? Witnesses?"
"None and none. His wallet was still in his jacket pocket, no cash. Just the four fake IDs we told you about."
Ducky stepped forward. "Are you certain you didn't simply browbeat the witnesses until they were too afraid to give their statements?"
Da Vinci looked up, squinting past the camera at his own screen. "Who was that? Is... Ducky?!"
Ducky smirked. "It's good to see you again, Dominic."
"Well, I'll be," Dominic laughed. "Donald Mallard!" He shook his head, looking back down at his notes. "We've managed to find out he flew in last night using the identity Michael Hastings. Our medical examiner thinks he died within two hours of his plane landing."
"So, someone on the plane with him."
"A couple of homicide detectives are checking out the passenger manifest right now. We'll fax over a list of names, see if any ring a bell for you."
"Thank you, Mr. Da Vinci," Gibbs said. He pulled the headset off and handed it to Ducky. "Wanna catch up?"
"Thank you, Jethro," he said, slipping the headset on. As Gibbs left, he heard Ducky say, "Now, how terrible are things in Vancouver that you are running for chief of police?"
---
They called Lilly and Scotty, presenting them with the passenger list of Grover Olsen's flight. After scanning the names a few times, Lilly paused and said, "Wait." She pulled out her cell phone, hitting speed-dial. After a moment, she said, "Vera. Do you have the information from the Kramer case in front of you? I need you to check for a name on the suspect's list. Claude Fuller." She waited and smiled. "Great. Thank you, Vera." She hung up and handed the manifest to Gibbs. "Claude Fuller."
"Who is he?" Gibbs asked, looking at the sheet. Fuller had been in three rows behind Olsen.
Scotty said, "Big-time mob guy. Heavy in protection rackets. We looked into him five years ago because one of his clients was being investigated by Kramer."
Tony said, "Kramer being?"
"The private eye we think Olsen killed. But if Fuller really is involved..."
"How were Olsen and the PI connected?" Kate asked.
"Olsen ran errands for Kramer," Scotty said. "Picked stuff up, ran it from here to there. Think he was trying to move up in the world. Kramer wouldn't give him the business, kid popped him and panicked. At least... that was the theory."
Gibbs put down the manifest and said, "Who do you think Kramer was killed to protect?"
"We're still working on that," Lilly said. "We need to find him. Olsen may have just been a scared kid. Saw too much, ran... and now he's dead."
---
Vancouver,
Angela hung up and turned to Mick. "NCIS is sending us a name and photo on a suspect." Mick stood and headed for the fax machine, which was already cooling down. He plucked up the paper and snapped it with his fingers. "Son of a bitch. I saw this guy! He was at the park, at the crime scene. Goddamn it. He was right there."
"Admiring his handiwork," Angela guessed.
"We probably got his statement before we let him go. I'll have Kurtz put him on a no-fly list, make it hard for him to run back to the States. He's been loose for five years; I'd say that's long enough."
---
Claude Fuller stood in line at the ticket counter, tapping his reservation against his thigh. Hop on a plane, fly back to Philly, put this whole goddamn mess behind him. Canada, he scoffed. Five years ago. Five goddamn years. He'd been hired by then-Deputy Mayor Flaherty to cover up some incriminating photos a half-assed PI had managed to snap. If only he'd planned for that dumbass kid to be there, this would all be over and done with, buried and forgotten.
He stepped up to the counter, checking in for his return flight. The clerk typed in his information and frowned at the screen.
Shit.
"I'm sorry, sir, there seems to be a problem. If you wouldn't mind just stepping over here...?"
Fuller glanced over his shoulder. There was a thin, black guy standing behind him and he widened his eyes. "Oh! Abdullah's got a bomb!"
The black guy's eyes widened. "What?!"
Fuller grabbed his carry-on and flung it at the black guy's head. "He's got a bomb! Stop him! He's going to blow up the plane!"
People in the airport, who had just heard the words 'bomb' and seen a dark-skinned man, began panicking. They screamed, half of them running and the other half cowering where they stood. Fuller took off, jumping over the scapegoat and hauling ass towards the front of the airport.
He knew there was painfully little chance he'd get out. Odds were the place would be locked down. Whoever the guy behind him was, Fuller hoped he didn't have any skeletons in his closet and had worn clean underwear to fly. He made it halfway down the terminal when a man behind him shouted his name.
He didn't slow.
Goddamn photographs...
"Vancouver homicide! Claude Fuller, stop!"
Goddamn Flaherty...
"We will NOT warn you again! Stop!"
It should've ended five years ago. Five years ago--
He felt like he'd been hit in the shoulder, his body suddenly top-heavy as he tripped over his feet. He hit the ground chin-first, spitting blood and crying out in pain. The cops were on him, a knee in the small of his back. "Should've stopped, man," Mick Leary sighed. "You have the right to remain silent..."
Philadelphia
Claude Fuller kept his hand on his injured shoulder, glaring at his reflection in the mirror. Scotty Valens was seated across from him, flipping through the file. "You worked for Deputy Mayor Flaherty, huh? How was that?"
"Paid bills."
Scotty nodded. "Yeah, I'll bet. He, uh, hire you to work on his new campaign?"
"Yeah."
"Wow. Pretty impressive, right? From hired muscle to working on a senatorial campaign? You must be pretty good at what you do."
He shrugged, wincing and gripping his shoulder.
"Ooh. Gotta hurt. Those Canadians, right? You cause one near-riot and they're suddenly all guns and bullets." He tsked. "Was it a Mountie? Cause if you're gonna get shot in Canada, it should at least be a Mountie."
"Can we get on with this?" Claude sighed.
"You're just gonna clam up, lawyer up, waste our time, so forgive me if I'm not..."
"I'll sell him out."
Scotty blinked. "What?"
"Flaherty... the bastard... Five years of my life. Covering his ass. Just to get mine shot in Vancouver? Screw it. Screw it. Five years ago, Deputy Mayor Hal Flaherty hired me to recover some photos this cheap PI had managed to snap. He also wanted the PI taken out." He paused and said, "Less'n you got a photographic memory, son, I suggest you grab a pen."
---
Virginia,
"If you're just now joining us, Philadelphia police have managed to close a five-year-old case that now involves senatorial candidate Hal Flaherty. In light of the new information being brought forth, Flaherty has dropped out of the campaign in order to focus on fighting the allegations being levied against hi--"
Kate shut off the TV as she passed, smiling at Abby. She'd changed into a plain white t-shirt and boxer shorts after her shower, climbing onto the edge of the bed and feeling Abby's forehead with the back of her hand. "You're doing better. Of course, if you hadn't come into work, you wouldn't have had the relapse."
"Had to protect my woman," Abby said, sliding her hand up Kate's thigh.
Kate shuddered. "Will you be a good girl and stay in bed all weekend? Just so I'm sure you're okay?"
"You couldn't keep me in bed if you physically restrained me."
"Oh," Kate said, rolling over on top of Abby. "That sounds like a challenge."
---
Philadelphia,
"Mr. Flaherty! Mr. Flaherty! What is your response to the allegations coming from Claude Fuller?"
"Mr. Flaherty has no comment at this time. Please allow him privacy at this difficult time. Thank you."
Lilly shut off the TV, rubbing her eyes as she checked the clock. One of her cats sneezed from beside her, shifting in her sleep. Lilly reached down, scratching Olivia's stomach and listening to her purr contentedly. She smiled, grateful her part in Flaherty's investigation had been downplayed. Since the entire ordeal with the serial killer last year, she'd had it with everyone recognizing her name from the newspaper.
She was about to shut off the lights when the phone rang. She frowned and checked the ID, seeing the infernal "Out Of Area." She reluctantly keyed the "Talk" button and said, "Lilly Rush."
"Hi," said a familiar voice, husky from one drink too many. Or maybe just enough. It had the same effect on her as it had in the Virginia bar.
"Hi, Dana," Lilly said, smiling as she sank down on the bed.
She'd never done one-night-stands very well, anyway.
---
Vancouver,
Suki Taylor sat in the cop bar, watching the footage of U.S. senatorial candidate Hal Flaherty being led off the courthouse steps and into a sea of reporters. At the other end of the bar, Brian Curtis barked an ugly laugh - the only kind he seemed capable of - and lifted his glass. "Finally. Starting to get the fat cats before they take office. How's that for a change of pace, huh?"
Suki rolled her eyes and turned away... spotting Angela Kosmo as she walked into the bar. She slid off her bar stool and walked cautiously over. Angie caught her eye and met her halfway. "Hey," Angie said.
"Hey."
Angie glanced at the bar and half-turned to the door, motioning back out to the street. "Want to get out of here?"
Suki smiled and put her hand in the small of Angie's back, letting her lead the way.
Title: Beyond the Pale
Fandom: NCIS/Da Vinci's Inquest/Cold Case
Characters: Abigail Sciuto, Caitlin Todd, Jethro Gibbs, Tony DiNozzo, Tim McGee, Donald "Ducky" Mallard, Detective Angela Kosmo, Detective Mick Leary, Detective Suki Taylor, Dominic Da Vinci, Detective Lilly Rush, Detective Scotty Valens, Detective Brian Curtis
Prompt: 020 Colorless
Word Count: 7,740
Rating: R
Spoilers: Da Vinci's Inquest, last two seasons; Cold Case, Season 2 finale; NCIS, sparse.
Summary: A Navy deserter, a five-year-old corpse in Philadelphia and a homicide in Vancouver, British Columbia, all come together in one bizarre case.
Author's Notes: Three series?! Three towns and two different countries?! *is obviously drunk* There's also a fourth series hidden in there if you know where to look. ;-) Oh, and Deputy Mayor Flaherty is ~*NOT*~ a Spin City reference. *G* Oh, and another case of explaining my prompt... I saw Colorless and thought of the title, "Beyond the Pale." Pale, originally meaning a region one country holds in another. So. Two countries. Hey, crossover! "Beyond the Pale" also means behavior outside the bounds of propriety, which fits! :D So... a long way to go from Colorless, but I think it works!
Little Damn Table
November 11, 2001 - Philadelphia, PA.
Grover Olsen paced in front of the cage of steel that covered the pawn shops front door and windows, breathing into his hands every now and then, muttering under his breath. The rain was turning to sleet, the pavement mirroring the halogen street lights up and down the street. When the van finally pulled up, splashing gutter water onto his sneakers, he pulled the back door open and jumped inside. "Jesus, take your own sweet time, why don't you?" He looked at the driver, realizing he didn't recognize him. "Hey, who is...?"
"Easy, Blue Muppet," the passenger said, taking a long drag off his cigarette before stubbing it in his ashtray. He turned and faced the shivering young man in the back seat. "You bring 'em?"
Grover dug into his jacket and withdrew a small stack of photographs. He shoved them into the passenger's hands and glanced nervously at the driver. "Does he ever say anything?"
The passenger glanced at the driver. "No," he said simply. He turned back around and started to flip through the photos. "Anyone see you?"
"Ha," Grover scoffed. "You think I'm stupid?"
Passenger and Driver exchanged a look.
"No," Grover sighed. "No one saw me. Look, can I get my cut now?"
"Eager," the passenger said. "Patience, Blue Muppet. All will be taken care of in due time."
Grover shifted uncomfortably, leaning forward to peer through the windshield. "Look, if I can get my cut, you can drop me off here, I'll be out of your hair."
"Sit back and shut up," the passenger sighed.
Grover reluctantly complied, hugging himself and staring out the window. The van pulled off the main stretch and parked in a narrow alleyway. "Come on," the passenger said before climbing out of the van. The driver joined him and Grover had no choice but to follow. Halfway down the alley, the driver turned and held out his hand. The passenger handed the photos over and the driver turned his back to them again.
The passenger looked back at Grover. "Relax, son. We're not going to do anything untoward. You look like you're expecting a double-cross." He laughed and turned around in time to catch the driver's bullet between his eyes. Grover cursed and wet himself, stumbling over his feet. The driver changed the angle of the gun and Grover saved himself by falling flat on his ass.
He scrambled on all-fours through the mud, screaming at the top of his lungs as he tried to put as much distance as possible between him and the murderer. He looked over his shoulder, surprised to see the alleyway behind him deserted. He got to his feet and ran from the alley, waiting to wake up, moving down the sidewalk in a half-stumble.
The next morning, Grover Olsen was on the front page. A sketch of his face had been produced by an insomniac who lived above the alley where the van's passenger - a crooked private investigator named James Kramer - had been shot and killed. The newspaper reported that he'd been "seen fleeing" the scene of the crime and revealed that he had been employed by the private eye's firm several times for snitching and go-fer duties.
When the police raided his apartment, he was nowhere to be found. An all-points-bullet was put out, to no avail. Grover Olsen had vanished.
The file on the murder of James Kramer was placed in a white box, stacked among hundreds of identical copies and forgotten.
Present Day, Falls Church, Virginia
Ensign Graham Oliver carried his rucksack over his shoulder, strolling down the street and enjoying the sunshine. Ten months at sea, his first ship assignment out of the academy, and he was grateful to be home again. The Navy had molded the rat he'd once been into a fine young man. Once his five years was up, he would consider making a career out of it.
But that would be in another four years. For now, he was eternally grateful to have solid ground under his feet once more.
He was checking out a pair of sunglasses - more importantly checking out the sailor groupie that manned the sunglass kiosk - when he spotted a familiar face in the crowd. He raised a hand without thinking, expecting his brain to tell him it was a former classmate or a shipmate.
The blood froze in his veins when he recognized the snarling grin of the driver from that long-ago evening. He dropped the sunglasses, stuttered a half-coherent explanation and ran from the mall.
The silent, nameless driver ran after him, but lost him in the crowd.
For the second time in five years, Grover Olsen had disappeared without a trace.
---
Special Agent Caitlin Todd let the water assault her, splashing against her upturned face and letting it flow where it may. She'd been awake for most of the night dealing with her sick girlfriend, atoning for being the one to get her sick in the first place. She stepped out of the shower and dried off, wrapping a robe around herself before heading into the bedroom.
Abby Sciuto was sprawled on top of the blankets, staring blankly at the far wall. Kate smiled and walked over, putting the back of her hand against Abby's cheek. "Hey," she whispered. "Feeling any better?"
"The guy who cleans port-a-johns," Abby said through a stuffy nose. "He leaves work after pulling a double shift. Along the way, he passes through a cow pasture. He sinks ankle-deep in mud. He steps in road kill. When he finally gets home, he puts his boots next to the fire where everything cakes on nice and good. Lick the bottom of his right boot from heel to toe... and I'll still trade places with you."
Kate laughed and leaned down, sealing her lips around Abby's. Abby sighed into the kiss and Kate said, "I'd trade places with you if I could."
"Yeah, yeah, yeah. I'm not talking to you. You refused to kill me last night."
Kate kissed Abby's eyebrow and said, "Get well. I have to go deal with a UA sailor." She went to the closet and doffed her robe, looking for something to wear. Abby sat up, obviously not a fan of gawking while upside-down. She plopped down on the mattress, staring at Kate's bare back. "Are you going into work today?"
Abby groaned.
"Take that as a no," Kate said without turning. She put on her underwear and found a pair of dark trousers. She sat on the edge of the bed to pull them on and said, "I guess Gibbs will find a replacement from Norfolk for the day." She turned and stroked Abby's cheek. "Want me to bring you something at lunch? Soup? Some broth...?"
"No food," Abby groaned. "Poison me."
"Stop it," Kate said, leaning down and kissing Abby again. She walked to the closet and found a purple sweater. "Be good and I'll draw you a bath when I get home. Bubbles and oils and all kinds of girly stuff I'm sure you'll hate."
Abby stuck her tongue out as Kate's head disappeared under the sweater. They said their good-byes, Kate promising to call when she could, and left the apartment. Abby rolled onto her back and covered her face with a pillow.
---
Ensign Graham Oliver's apartment defined spartan. A couch, a TV on a bare wooden stand and a few magazines were all that occupied the space he called home. No photographs, no personal touches... Tony DiNozzo walked the perimeter of the room, looking for a sign the apartment was a real living space and not some eerie set dressing for a reality show. He ran his gloved finger along the edge of the mantle, relieved to find a thick layer of dust.
"At least we know it's real," he said, flicking the dust at McGee. The newest addition to the team waved a hand in front of his face in case the dust actually reached him. "I'm telling you, Probie," Tony said, wandering back towards the kitchenette, "this place is not ringing true."
"Well, Ensign Oliver has been at sea for the past ten months," McGee said, getting to his feet. "And before that, he had quarters at the Naval Academy. Maybe he just hasn't had time to decorate."
Tony turned to face him. "Decorate? Men do not decorate. Men will leave something in what eventually becomes its permanent place."
"I decorated my apartment when I moved in."
"I say again," Tony muttered, moving around the couch to sketch another part of the room.
Kate entered and said, "I talked to the landlord. Paid rent in advance for when he'd be at sea. Apparently a good tenant for the time he's been here. No complaints from the neighbors. No girlfriends, no acquaintances in the building... no strings attached kind of guy."
"Sounds like McGee," Tony said.
"I'll have you know I had a date last night," McGee said.
"Pity dates don't count."
"It was not a pity date!" McGee insisted.
"Let's save the recap for gym class," Gibbs said, stepping into the apartment. "What've we got so far?"
"Sorry... boss, um..." McGee flipped open his notebook and read, "No sign of foul play. He left in a hurry, barely bothered to pack anything from the look of his bedroom..."
"Or he packed everything, from the look of the rest of his apartment," Tony said.
McGee ignored him. "Joined the Naval Academy five years ago. Moved here when he graduated, uh, assigned to the USS Whidbey Island and spent the past ten months on station in the Persian Gulf. His CO reported that he was hard-working, kept in line, had no problems whatsoever with his service."
"So why would a kid... no issues with the Navy, no personal issues... suddenly go missing?"
"That's what we're here to find out, DiNozzo," Gibbs said. He handed his coffee cup to McGee and said, "Nice work on the background."
Gibbs walked out and McGee beamed at Tony, holding up the coffee. "Nice work."
"Yeah, we heard him," Tony muttered, finishing his sketches.
---
Gibbs dialed the cell phone in the car, nestling it between his ear and shoulder as it rang. After a few minutes, the phone was answered and a stuffy-nosed Abby said, "Are you calling to put me out of my misery?"
He smirked. "Still feeling bad, eh, Abs?"
"What was your--sniff--first clue?"
"Want me to bring by a Caf-Pow!?"
"Ugh," Abby groaned. "No, even the thought..."
Gibbs chuckled. "All right, Abby. I may drop by later to make sure you're okay."
"I'm not home."
"Where are you?"
"A friend's."
"They taking good care of you?"
"Mm."
"They the one who got you sick?"
"Um..."
He smirked. "Okay. Call me later, let me know when you start feeling like yourself again." He hung up, slipping the phone back into his coat pocket.
Funny how Abby seemed to have caught the same cold Kate had been fighting a week ago. Despite all of them working together, Abby had been the only one it had been passed on to. It was enough to make someone wonder what she and Abby had been doing that she hadn't done with anyone else in the office...
Smirking, he pulled into the NCIS garage and put all thoughts of Abby's illness out of his mind.
---
McGee frowned and leaned back in his chair, staring at the screen. "This is weird."
"Did you go to that website Tony told you about?" Kate asked, rising and moving towards McGee's desk. "Cause really, human eyes should not be forced to see that kind of stuff."
"No," McGee muttered, typing in a password and navigating deeper. "It's just... it's weird. I'm doing background on Graham Oliver and there's... overlap."
Tony's interest was now piqued. He joined Kate beside McGee's desk. "What kind of overlap?"
"Apparently, he attended his junior year of high school twice."
"So maybe he flunked gym," Tony said. "Happens to the best of people, right, Probie?"
McGee glared at him. "I told you that in confidence. And it was a fencing class, not gym. So..."
"What's so weird about repeating a grade?" Gibbs asked, appearing behind Tony.
"Boss. Uh..." McGee turned back to the computer. "It's not that he repeated it that's so strange... it's when he repeated it. Apparently, he attended the eleventh grade twice... in the same year. At different schools, different towns, everything."
"How is that possible?"
"It's not," Gibbs said. "Unless the person we're looking for is not Graham Oliver."
"An assumed name?"
Gibbs put his coffee down and took a seat. "Whoever he was, he took the name of someone with a clean record, stroked it until it fit for him and voila. Instant identity."
"It couldn't be that easy," Kate said.
"Identity theft?" McGee said. "Give me twenty minutes and a little personal information and I could be DiNozzo by tonight."
"In name only," Tony assured him.
"Find out who this guy really is," Gibbs said. "He was hiding from something; let's see if it finally caught up to him."
Tony, Kate and McGee all returned to their desks to begin investigating the suddenly nameless missing sailor.
---
McGee looked up from his computer and frowned at Tony. The "senior field agent" was staring off into space, drumming his fingertips on the edge of his desk. McGee sighed and shook his head. He'd already spent the last half hour determining the real Graham Oliver had died in a car accident during his junior year. Whoever their missing ensign was, he was NOT Graham Oliver. While he'd been digging up all that info, Tony had been humming to himself, reading his email, programming his cell phone...
Unfortunately, Gibbs had gone downstairs to the evidence garage to check on something, so he wasn't around to catch Tony's slacking. But it was more than McGee could take. "You know," he said. "You could try helping."
Tony leaned back, lacing his fingers over his stomach and turning his chair to face McGee. "I could. But then I may solve the entire case on my own." He smiled. "Wouldn't want you to feel useless there, McGee."
"How very altruistic of you," Gibbs said, rounding the corner and heading for his desk. "What've you got, DiNozzo?"
Tony stood and said, "Something I saw at the guy's apartment. According to the 'Graham Oliver' bio that McGee slapped together, he's never been outside of Virginia. But I talked to a guy on the Whidbey Island, told me that Oliver was crazy about cheesesteak."
"So?" Kate asked. "I like cheesesteak."
"Yes, but how many have you had shipped in from Geno's? It's a quaint little neon-covered shop located... in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania."
"If you're ordering cheesesteak through the mail, that'd be the point of origin," Gibbs said.
"Right," Tony said. "But the guy was a huge 76er's fan. He used to gamble with other shipmates on games." He turned and pointed at McGee. "And what was the back of the single windbreaker we found in his apartment?"
McGee said, "An eagle."
"Philadelphia Eagles, the Sixers, cheesesteaks... We know that Graham Oliver showed up five years ago at the latest, when he joined the Naval Academy. I looked it up online, there's a group photo of his class and, unless the imposter had plastic surgery after his identity theft, it's the same guy."
"Wow," Kate said. "And you did all of this in the past half-hour."
Tony shrugged. "I also answered some email. You know. Correspondence."
"McGee," Gibbs started.
"Already on the phone to the Philadelphia police department, boss," McGee reported. "I'll ask about missing persons from five years ago that match the description."
"Kate," Gibbs said.
"I'll check his phone records, see if he's contacted anyone from Philadelphia recently."
"DiNozzo..."
Tony raised his eyebrows.
"Good work."
Tony smirked and headed back to his desk.
---
Scotty Valens walked down the row of white boxes, scanning for a name. He knew he'd seen that sketch, dozens of times... hell, hundreds of times... in the newspaper. The midnight murder, the skeevy PI, the whole Chinatown thing. He scanned the boxes and found it. Kramer. He pulled the box, sitting it on the ground and removing the lid. The sketch was sitting on top, the face staring up at him.
Grover Olsen had fled Philadelphia, landed in Virginia with a new identity and enrolled in the Naval Academy. He smiled and picked up the box, carrying it back to the bullpen.
---
"Got a hit from a Detective Scott Valens in Philadelphia," McGee said. "Apparently, Ensign Graham Oliver matches the eyewitness sketch of a murder suspect named Grover Olsen. They're faxing the sketch over now, but he's already compared it with the photo of Oliver that I emailed to him."
Kate abandoned the phone record search and joined them at the fax machine. The sketch from Philadelphia arrived and Gibbs held it up to the plasma, visually comparing the two faces of Grover Olsen. "Looks like a match," he said.
Tony shrugged. "Well, the nostrils are little more flared in the picture. His eyes are a little..." Gibbs turned and glared at him and Tony said, "Right. Definitely a match, boss. No doubt in my mind, either."
Gibbs handed the photo to McGee. "Get Philly back on the phone, tell them that Olsen may be on his way back."
"That's doubtful," Kate interjected. "He ran from there, stole an identity... I think that after all this time, that's the last place he would go."
"We didn't discover his false identity until after he disappeared," Tony said. "Maybe he's counting on it being such a good fake that he could go back for a while."
Kate shook her head. "He overlapped. We figured this out too soon. It was a good job, but not perfect enough to bet his freedom on it."
"Why do you think he ran?" Gibbs asked.
Kate pondered the question, staring at the screen. "He would have to be scared. He had everyone fooled. No one was looking into his past, his CO was impressed with him... he was plain. And no one is suspicious of plain. I think he ran because someone had figured him out. Someone from Philadelphia saw him or contacted him."
"So he's running scared," Gibbs suggested.
"My bet is he'll try to flee the country," Kate said. "Last time he ran, he came here from Philadelphia. It wasn't far enough. I think he's going to take the next step."
"Airports?"
"We've already sent his name and picture to the local airports," McGee said.
"Let's hope it's enough."
---
Graham Oliver, born Grover Olsen, stood in line and nervously glanced over his shoulder. When it came his turn to step up to the counter, he presented his ID and smiled, trying not to look nervous. "How you doing today?" he asked. "I need a flight to Vancouver, British Columbia."
The woman behind the counter took his ID and glanced at it before beginning the procedures. He drummed his fingers on the counter, still waiting for the other shoe to drop. He'd driven out of Virginia, hoping to get far enough away that his name and picture wouldn't appear on anyone's no-fly list. His military ID would help him clear some security hurdles, but if they'd already put...
"How will you be paying for this, sir?"
He cleared his throat and pushed a credit card across the counter. It wasn't his, but using his own card would throw up red flags all over the place. Not to mention giving away his escape route to the killer.
The card went through and he breathed a sigh of relief. Maybe he'd get still be able to get away after all...
The killer who had driven the white van so many years ago kept his head down, hidden behind aviator sunglasses and a fake beard. He had tried to get the little twerp at a rest stop but had missed his chance. No way to get to him in an airport without drawing attention... but fortunately he'd gotten close enough to hear his prey's destination.
He stepped up to the counter and smiled sweetly. "One ticket to Vancouver, please."
---
Kate left NCIS at the end of the day with a tall Styrofoam cup of Ducky's mother's soup in hand. He'd heard of Abby's illness and brought in the soup as a "surefire Mallard family recipe, dating back to the Black Plague." As she headed for her car, a woman behind her said, "Pardon me, are you an NCIS agent?"
She turned, waiting for the blonde to catch up with her. "Special Agent Caitlin Todd," Kate said. "Can I help you?"
"Philadelphia PD. Detective Lilly Rush," the other woman said, flashing her badge. "I'm here about the Grover Olsen case."
"Then you hi-jacked the right agent," Kate said. She frowned and checked her watch. "Wait a minute. Philadelphia? What did you do, teleport here?"
Rush smiled. "Do you mind if I walk with you?"
"Sure," Kate said reluctantly. Lilly fell into step beside her. "The guy we've been looking for... Grover Olsen. You found him in the Navy?"
Kate nodded. "He'd enlisted under a false ID. We're still trying to figure out how he managed to do that." She unlocked her car door and said, "I need to drop this off while it's still hot. Care to talk while I drive?"
"No problem."
They got into the car and Kate handed the soup to Lilly. "Smells good," Lilly said. "The man we believe Olsen killed was a private investigator. Olsen worked for him as a go-fer. We're thinking that, in the course of his work, he picked up enough know-how to get a false identity."
"Or steal one."
Lilly nodded and looked out the window.
"Been to Washington before?"
"Once," Lilly said. She let the matter drop, so Kate didn't press.
They rode in silence until Kate reached her apartment. "I'll just be a minute." She made it to the elevator before Lilly called out her name. She turned and Lilly held up the soup. "You left this in the car."
Kate exhaled and shook her head. "Thanks. I guess I'm a little more eager to see the person I was bringing it to." She hesitated and motioned at the open elevator door. "You... want to come up? Like I said, I'll just be in and out."
Lilly seemed reluctant but, after a moment, said, "Sure." They got into the elevator and Lilly said, "So, leave work for fifteen minutes at the end of the day, run some soup home and then right back to the grind?"
Kate smiled. "Something tells me it's a pattern you're not unfamiliar with."
Lilly glanced at the elevator numbers to hide her smile.
In the apartment, Kate asked Lilly to stay in the front room as she went into the bedroom. Abby was sprawled across the mattress, legs tangled in the sheet. Her hair was a creature unto itself, her face buried in the crook of her arm. She was wearing a t-shirt and boxer shorts, moaning incoherently. Kate sat on the edge of the bed and leaned down, kissing her temple. "Hey," she whispered. "Hey, feeling any better?"
Abby lifted her face and glared at her. "I smell something hot."
"Mrs. Mallard made you soup."
Abby rolled over onto her back and said, "Get a funnel. Pour it in my mouth. Tell her I loved it when you see her at my funeral."
Kate laughed and stood up, moving Abby until she was laying the right way. As she was rearranging her feet, Abby glanced over Kate's shoulder and saw a reflection in the hall mirror. "Is there someone else in the apartment?" she whispered.
"Yeah. Lilly Rush, Philadelphia homicide."
Abby leaned forward and said, "She's gorgeous."
Kate looked over her shoulder. "She's pale."
"Like a porcelain doll."
"Like a vampire."
Abby raised her eyebrows and Kate rolled her eyes. "Like a non-sexy vampire." She kissed Abby's lips and brushed her cheek. "Get some rest. I'm going back to work for another few hours."
Abby clutched the hem of Kate's shirt and Kate smiled. "Wake me when you get home."
"It might be late. And you need some rest."
"Wake me. I want to see you."
Kate smiled and kissed Abby again, tucking a hair behind her ear. She handed Abby the soup and said, "I'll call you later to say good-night."
She left the bedroom and crossed to the kitchen, grabbing a spoon and hurrying back. "Just one more sec," she apologized to Lilly. She gave Abby the spoon, kissed her good-bye again and then slipped back into the main room. "Sorry about that."
"It's no problem," Lilly said.
They stepped out of the apartment and Lilly said, "I... also don't want you to think your relationship is a problem." Kate turned. "I heard her voice. I don't want you to think... you know... that..."
"Thanks," Kate said, interrupting her. "I shouldn't have been so careless, bringing a stranger upstairs..."
"I understand," Lilly said. "One of the detectives in my squad is gay."
"Really?" Kate said, stepping into the elevator. "The guy Tony talked to?"
"I don't know. Did he talk to..."
---
When Kate arrived back at the office, she found that Lilly's partner was already there. While she was talking with Lilly in the car, Scotty had been upstairs at NCIS getting the rundown from DiNozzo. They exchanged introductions, and Kate rounded to the back of her desk. She took a seat, trying not to notice Lilly's ass when she leaned against the edge of the desk. She swiveled her chair so she was facing Gibbs.
Gibbs shook their hands and offered, "We're glad for the help, Detectives. McGee, tell 'em what we've got so far."
"We've given his name and photo to all local airports and air fields and an APB out on his car. No luck so far. We don't know if that means he's gone to ground or if we were just too late getting to him."
"What about contacts?"
"Dr. Sherman is checking on those now."
"Who?" Tony asked, finally looking away from Lilly.
"Dr. Gregory Sherman. He's filling in for Abby while she's out sick."
Tony sneered and leaned back. Kate caught Lilly glance in her direction but didn't give the cop any hints. "Bank activity?"
"No withdrawals from his personal bank account. As near as we can tell, none of his friends have loaned him any money recently."
Gibbs said, "So he's running with just the money in his pockets."
"Not necessarily," Kate said. "He was able to create a back-history for himself. Why couldn't he just do it again? Maybe he's using someone else's ID and credit cards."
"Is there any way you could check that out, McGee?"
McGee sighed. "Well... we could go over his computers, check his history and credit ratings, see what we can find out. But... we'll have to use Dr. Sherman."
"I thought that was the point of having Dr. Sherman," Gibbs said.
"Yes and I have no problem using him," McGee said. "It's just... well, he's no Abby."
"Good to hear I'm -sniffle- so indispensable."
Everyone turned as Abby walked into the room, slipping between Lilly and Kate's desk. Kate smirked at the obvious display of jealousy and stood. "Abby, shouldn't you be getting some rest."
"Me? No. I'm fine-b."
"You may be 'finb'," Gibbs said. "But you should be at home. In bed. Recuperating."
"You need me here, Gibbs. McGee just said so."
McGee glanced nervously at Gibbs. "It... w-would go a lot faster if she helped."
Gibbs sighed and walked over to Abby, raising a finger to her. "You sit down. You let McGee and Sherman do the heavy lifting. You got me, Abby?"
"Yes, sir, Boss." She glanced at Lilly once more before heading to the elevators. Kate stood, slipping out of the bullpen and chasing after her. Alone in the elevator, Abby said, "So. The little strumpet already has her ass-print on your desk."
Kate smirked. "Are you jealous?"
Abby pressed her lips together, watching the numbers count down to her lab. After a long hesitation, she said, "Yep."
Kate stepped forward and grabbed a handful of Abby's hair, drawing her head down and whispering against her lips. "I don't like blondes." She kissed Abby and released her, straightening her back just as the doors slid open.
Abby cleared her throat and said, "I may have just given your cold back to you."
"Considering how you got it in the first place, I'll consider it fair play."
Abby grinned and stepped out of the elevator. "You want to hang out down here? Keep me from passing out?"
"Would love to," Kate said. "But right now, I have to go rub Lilly's ass imprint off my desk." She grinned as the doors slid shut on Abby's pinched expression.
---
Lilly and Scotty hung around for another hour before leaving to find a hotel. Gibbs and the rest of the NCIS team had promised to keep them in the loop, but the two detectives weren't holding their breath. They'd dealt with enough federal agencies to know how things went.
They got rooms at a moderately priced hotel, called Stillman to let him know they'd gotten in touch with the NCIS and headed to their rooms. Lilly slipped out of her shoes, sitting on the edge of the bed and staring at herself in the mirror. She'd lied to Agent Todd; she hadn't just heard the girlfriend's voice. She'd caught a glimpse of them.
Todd had been sitting on the edge of the bed, leaning over and lighting brushing the other woman's hair. It was so tender. So... intimate. How long had it been since she'd felt a touch like that?
She let her hair down, running her fingers through it. Scotty would most likely welcome a visit from her... but she'd never live it down. She knew she'd regret that in the morning. She found her shoes and put them back on, heading downstairs to the bar. She was stirring a glass of water when a gentle voice next to her said, "Wow. Vodka? This late?"
Lilly looked over at the redhead. She was wearing a business suit, the top buttons undone signaling the end of a very long day. Lilly tilted her glass and shrugged apologetically. "Water."
"I know," the woman said. She told the bartender, "I'll have what she's having. I'm Dana."
"Lilly."
"Business or pleasure?"
"Here on business," Lilly said, finishing off her glass. "Looking to add a little pleasure." She looked down at her fingers, wrapped around the empty glass. She couldn't bear to be forward, couldn't look people in the eye when she laid her emotions out.
Dana reached over and touched her wrist and Lilly looked up.
Maybe she'd have someone run their fingers through her hair after all.
---
Abby was half-dead by the time Kate got her home. "You shouldn't have come in to work," Kate admonished, dumping her purse and keys in the front hall.
"Jealous," Abby sighed.
Kate rolled her eyes and walked Abby down the hallway. She turned on the bathroom light, sitting Abby on the edge of the tub and drawing a bath. As the water ran, she got Abby out of her clothes and helped her get into the rising water. "You gonna give me a bath?" Abby murmured.
"To start with," Kate smiled.
Abby grinned, tired but intrigued.
Vancouver, British Columbia, Canada
Angela Kosmo lay on her back, staring at the ceiling. The sleeping woman next to her was curled into the fetal position, arms crossed over her chest. Coming over here had been a bad idea. Staying had been even worse. She was about to try slipping silently from the apartment when her cell phone began vibrating on the night stand.
Suki jerked and glanced over her shoulder, arching her back and pressing her face into the pillow. Angie sat up, flipping the phone open. "It's me," she said. "Yeah." She got out of bed, finding her jeans and pulling them on with one hand. When she looked over her shoulder, she saw Suki had rolled onto her back and was watching her dress.
"Okay. I'll be right there." She hung up and found her blouse, searching for her underwear.
"Gotta head in?" Suki asked.
"Yeah," Angie said, pulling her blouse on. "Body in Stanley Park. Chick thinks he was beaten before he died, so..."
"Will I see you later?"
"Uh," Angie hesitated. "I don't know. Maybe. Yes."
She crossed to the bed and bent down, kissing Suki goodbye. Suki held her arm and said, "If you regret last night..."
"I don't. I promise. I'll see you tonight if not at work."
"Okay," Suki said, laying back. Angie found her shoes and headed out. Suki sighed and climbed out of bed. No point in trying to sleep for another thirty minutes.
---
Mick Leary was already at his desk when Angela came in, looking up and watching as she took a seat behind her desk. "Long night?"
She glanced at him without answering. "You not working with Leo today?"
Mick shook his head. "Took some personal time. Lana. You know."
Angie nodded and said, "What's the body look like?"
"Ground beef," Mick said, passing her the file. "He's down with Donato right now, trying to figure out what exactly happened. We found him down by the shore, bloody, torn all to hell." He leaned back and stroked his upper lip. "ID was on him, but that won't be much help."
"Why not?" Angie asked, glancing up from the file.
Mick held up three driver's licenses. "Guy had an alias for every day of the week." He shuffled them like playing cards and said, "So he's either John Doe, Michael Hastings, Graham Oliver or Grover Olsen."
"How do we know which name is the real one?"
"If Maria can't ID him from fingerprints, we'll put all the names out on the wire. Hope someone's looking for him."
---
Virginia,
Gibbs and McGee were the first ones in the next morning, Gibbs taking a seat behind his desk while McGee checked the fax machine. A fresh delivery was resting in the paper tray and he pulled it up, sipping his coffee as he read the short message. By the second paragraph, he was completely awake. "Boss..."
"What is it, McGee?" Gibbs asked from his desk.
"Um... good news. I think." He turned. "Or... very bad."
"One or the other," Gibbs said, reaching out for the fax.
McGee handed it over as Tony walked in. "Hey. What's going on?"
"We, uh... found Graham Oliver."
"That's great!" Tony said.
"Not so great," Gibbs said, standing up and handing the fax back to McGee. "He's dead."
---
Gibbs headed to MTAC to video-conference with the Vancouver coroner. As he topped the stairs, he heard Ducky call him from below. "Jethro! I heard that you were going to conference with the Vancouver, B.C. coroner."
"That's right."
"Might I sit in? I believe I may know the fellow."
"Come on up, Duck," Gibbs said. The MTAC room was kept almost entirely dark, lit by the giant screen that was currently displaying a stone wall. As Gibbs settled in, standing as usual in front of the screen, a man appeared in front of the stone wall. He moved a hand through his hair, squinting towards the camera and adjusting his glasses. "Here?" he asked.
"Just... look right in there," a woman said. She leaned into frame, looking at the lens before disappearing again. "It's connected."
He cleared his throat. "Hello?"
"We're here, Dr. Da Vinci."
"It's, ah, Mr. Da Vinci, actually," the man said. "Dominic Da Vinci." He looked past the camera and said, "Is that them, Helen? Oh. Oh, okay. I can see you. Hello, ah, NCIS."
Gibbs pushed past the formalities. "Mr. Da Vinci, we're in a bit of a hurry here..."
"Yeah, oh, yeah, I understand. I have the coroner's report on Mr. Olsen right here." He opened the file and cleared his throat, adjusting his glasses again. "Okay. He was found in Stanley Park this morning at about 5:44 AM. He'd been beaten severely. The cause of death was determined to be blood loss, due to several incisions on his abdomen and face. He was beaten, stabbed and left to die."
"Fingerprints? Witnesses?"
"None and none. His wallet was still in his jacket pocket, no cash. Just the four fake IDs we told you about."
Ducky stepped forward. "Are you certain you didn't simply browbeat the witnesses until they were too afraid to give their statements?"
Da Vinci looked up, squinting past the camera at his own screen. "Who was that? Is... Ducky?!"
Ducky smirked. "It's good to see you again, Dominic."
"Well, I'll be," Dominic laughed. "Donald Mallard!" He shook his head, looking back down at his notes. "We've managed to find out he flew in last night using the identity Michael Hastings. Our medical examiner thinks he died within two hours of his plane landing."
"So, someone on the plane with him."
"A couple of homicide detectives are checking out the passenger manifest right now. We'll fax over a list of names, see if any ring a bell for you."
"Thank you, Mr. Da Vinci," Gibbs said. He pulled the headset off and handed it to Ducky. "Wanna catch up?"
"Thank you, Jethro," he said, slipping the headset on. As Gibbs left, he heard Ducky say, "Now, how terrible are things in Vancouver that you are running for chief of police?"
---
They called Lilly and Scotty, presenting them with the passenger list of Grover Olsen's flight. After scanning the names a few times, Lilly paused and said, "Wait." She pulled out her cell phone, hitting speed-dial. After a moment, she said, "Vera. Do you have the information from the Kramer case in front of you? I need you to check for a name on the suspect's list. Claude Fuller." She waited and smiled. "Great. Thank you, Vera." She hung up and handed the manifest to Gibbs. "Claude Fuller."
"Who is he?" Gibbs asked, looking at the sheet. Fuller had been in three rows behind Olsen.
Scotty said, "Big-time mob guy. Heavy in protection rackets. We looked into him five years ago because one of his clients was being investigated by Kramer."
Tony said, "Kramer being?"
"The private eye we think Olsen killed. But if Fuller really is involved..."
"How were Olsen and the PI connected?" Kate asked.
"Olsen ran errands for Kramer," Scotty said. "Picked stuff up, ran it from here to there. Think he was trying to move up in the world. Kramer wouldn't give him the business, kid popped him and panicked. At least... that was the theory."
Gibbs put down the manifest and said, "Who do you think Kramer was killed to protect?"
"We're still working on that," Lilly said. "We need to find him. Olsen may have just been a scared kid. Saw too much, ran... and now he's dead."
---
Vancouver,
Angela hung up and turned to Mick. "NCIS is sending us a name and photo on a suspect." Mick stood and headed for the fax machine, which was already cooling down. He plucked up the paper and snapped it with his fingers. "Son of a bitch. I saw this guy! He was at the park, at the crime scene. Goddamn it. He was right there."
"Admiring his handiwork," Angela guessed.
"We probably got his statement before we let him go. I'll have Kurtz put him on a no-fly list, make it hard for him to run back to the States. He's been loose for five years; I'd say that's long enough."
---
Claude Fuller stood in line at the ticket counter, tapping his reservation against his thigh. Hop on a plane, fly back to Philly, put this whole goddamn mess behind him. Canada, he scoffed. Five years ago. Five goddamn years. He'd been hired by then-Deputy Mayor Flaherty to cover up some incriminating photos a half-assed PI had managed to snap. If only he'd planned for that dumbass kid to be there, this would all be over and done with, buried and forgotten.
He stepped up to the counter, checking in for his return flight. The clerk typed in his information and frowned at the screen.
Shit.
"I'm sorry, sir, there seems to be a problem. If you wouldn't mind just stepping over here...?"
Fuller glanced over his shoulder. There was a thin, black guy standing behind him and he widened his eyes. "Oh! Abdullah's got a bomb!"
The black guy's eyes widened. "What?!"
Fuller grabbed his carry-on and flung it at the black guy's head. "He's got a bomb! Stop him! He's going to blow up the plane!"
People in the airport, who had just heard the words 'bomb' and seen a dark-skinned man, began panicking. They screamed, half of them running and the other half cowering where they stood. Fuller took off, jumping over the scapegoat and hauling ass towards the front of the airport.
He knew there was painfully little chance he'd get out. Odds were the place would be locked down. Whoever the guy behind him was, Fuller hoped he didn't have any skeletons in his closet and had worn clean underwear to fly. He made it halfway down the terminal when a man behind him shouted his name.
He didn't slow.
Goddamn photographs...
"Vancouver homicide! Claude Fuller, stop!"
Goddamn Flaherty...
"We will NOT warn you again! Stop!"
It should've ended five years ago. Five years ago--
He felt like he'd been hit in the shoulder, his body suddenly top-heavy as he tripped over his feet. He hit the ground chin-first, spitting blood and crying out in pain. The cops were on him, a knee in the small of his back. "Should've stopped, man," Mick Leary sighed. "You have the right to remain silent..."
Philadelphia
Claude Fuller kept his hand on his injured shoulder, glaring at his reflection in the mirror. Scotty Valens was seated across from him, flipping through the file. "You worked for Deputy Mayor Flaherty, huh? How was that?"
"Paid bills."
Scotty nodded. "Yeah, I'll bet. He, uh, hire you to work on his new campaign?"
"Yeah."
"Wow. Pretty impressive, right? From hired muscle to working on a senatorial campaign? You must be pretty good at what you do."
He shrugged, wincing and gripping his shoulder.
"Ooh. Gotta hurt. Those Canadians, right? You cause one near-riot and they're suddenly all guns and bullets." He tsked. "Was it a Mountie? Cause if you're gonna get shot in Canada, it should at least be a Mountie."
"Can we get on with this?" Claude sighed.
"You're just gonna clam up, lawyer up, waste our time, so forgive me if I'm not..."
"I'll sell him out."
Scotty blinked. "What?"
"Flaherty... the bastard... Five years of my life. Covering his ass. Just to get mine shot in Vancouver? Screw it. Screw it. Five years ago, Deputy Mayor Hal Flaherty hired me to recover some photos this cheap PI had managed to snap. He also wanted the PI taken out." He paused and said, "Less'n you got a photographic memory, son, I suggest you grab a pen."
---
Virginia,
"If you're just now joining us, Philadelphia police have managed to close a five-year-old case that now involves senatorial candidate Hal Flaherty. In light of the new information being brought forth, Flaherty has dropped out of the campaign in order to focus on fighting the allegations being levied against hi--"
Kate shut off the TV as she passed, smiling at Abby. She'd changed into a plain white t-shirt and boxer shorts after her shower, climbing onto the edge of the bed and feeling Abby's forehead with the back of her hand. "You're doing better. Of course, if you hadn't come into work, you wouldn't have had the relapse."
"Had to protect my woman," Abby said, sliding her hand up Kate's thigh.
Kate shuddered. "Will you be a good girl and stay in bed all weekend? Just so I'm sure you're okay?"
"You couldn't keep me in bed if you physically restrained me."
"Oh," Kate said, rolling over on top of Abby. "That sounds like a challenge."
---
Philadelphia,
"Mr. Flaherty! Mr. Flaherty! What is your response to the allegations coming from Claude Fuller?"
"Mr. Flaherty has no comment at this time. Please allow him privacy at this difficult time. Thank you."
Lilly shut off the TV, rubbing her eyes as she checked the clock. One of her cats sneezed from beside her, shifting in her sleep. Lilly reached down, scratching Olivia's stomach and listening to her purr contentedly. She smiled, grateful her part in Flaherty's investigation had been downplayed. Since the entire ordeal with the serial killer last year, she'd had it with everyone recognizing her name from the newspaper.
She was about to shut off the lights when the phone rang. She frowned and checked the ID, seeing the infernal "Out Of Area." She reluctantly keyed the "Talk" button and said, "Lilly Rush."
"Hi," said a familiar voice, husky from one drink too many. Or maybe just enough. It had the same effect on her as it had in the Virginia bar.
"Hi, Dana," Lilly said, smiling as she sank down on the bed.
She'd never done one-night-stands very well, anyway.
---
Vancouver,
Suki Taylor sat in the cop bar, watching the footage of U.S. senatorial candidate Hal Flaherty being led off the courthouse steps and into a sea of reporters. At the other end of the bar, Brian Curtis barked an ugly laugh - the only kind he seemed capable of - and lifted his glass. "Finally. Starting to get the fat cats before they take office. How's that for a change of pace, huh?"
Suki rolled her eyes and turned away... spotting Angela Kosmo as she walked into the bar. She slid off her bar stool and walked cautiously over. Angie caught her eye and met her halfway. "Hey," Angie said.
"Hey."
Angie glanced at the bar and half-turned to the door, motioning back out to the street. "Want to get out of here?"
Suki smiled and put her hand in the small of Angie's back, letting her lead the way.