[h3]No Angels...[/h3]
Home Scene ft. J. Donnelley & Dr. Laine

>HILLGROVE CEMETERY
>SEATAC, WA
>14SEP2019
>1230...///

It was the type of day when clouds knit together and locked arms to deny the sun. Donnelley sat under it, eyes closed and sullen like seeing an omen. Dawant had called Donnelley while he was… [i]away.[/i] Left a message telling him that he was wondering just where the fuck he was all this time. Staring up at the grey of the sky, he could’ve asked himself that too. This had all started because of Maria. And here they were worrying about Russians and international trafficking organizations, worrying about terrorists in Iraq. Worrying about each other, about who they could really trust. Worrying about everything except young Maria Vasquez.

Sitting on a bench among the headstones in Hillgrove Cemetery, wondering on the stories of each name carved into the stones. And thinking what a mercy it must be to not have your entire life emblazoned where everyone could see. Your name, when you were born, and when you died. That’s it. Maybe a quote about you. An idealized and romantic version of every tiny, hectic, tragic choking life. He looked at one, Charles Struthers’ last resting place. When people walked past his name, they probably imagined a sweet man who lived a kind life. And that’s better than knowing he was a raging alcoholic who died choking on his own vomit in a cheap hotel room after pushing everyone else away.

Or maybe he wasn’t. People tended to drape their own views over everything they see as they walk past it. He wondered what kind of funeral he’d have, and who would show up. If anybody did. Would Holly even know? Would Tilly? Donnelley shook his head and adjusted his cap, pushed his sunglasses up his nose a little further, and waited for the other two he was meeting here.

Laine stepped past the gate of the cemetery, the overcast sky pressing down over her. She tucked her hands in her jacket, the autumn wind tossing her dark hair as it blustered around the wide green expanse, the tombstones ranging from simple slabs to obelisks and angels staring with stone eyes. 

She spotted Donnelley despite his sunglasses and hat, she knew by the set of his shoulders that it was him. Laine wore no covering, her face solemn and dressed in black she might just be a mourner. Reaching up, she brushed back the lock of hair that flew across her eyes, tucking it behind her ear as she approached him. 

Maria rested here, among all the dead, and she was never gone from Laine’s mind. All their roads lead back to a girl murdered and how she got there and who put her there. 

She walked up silently and stood with Donnelley for a moment, then looked him over. Laine had not dared speak much to him on the way home, the very scrutinizing eyes of the Program in the Air Force plane kept her away. Even now, she glanced over her shoulder before greeting him. 

“I hope I didn’t keep you waiting long,” she said, her voice neutral but her gaze was intent on his face, taking in his features behind the sunglasses. 

“Just more time to think about… all of this.” Donnelley frowned, shaking his head and looking away from Laine for a moment, “Somewhere along the path we lost it.”

“Maria.” He said, looking back at Laine, “I wish it was simple.”

Laine tilted her head slightly, looking at him then at the headstone. “I remember when I thought it was. I thought it was another case like so many I’d worked, if I’d known then what I know now.”

A sad smile touched her lips, the burgundy lipstick highlighting the soft fullness as she pressed them tight. “I would have done things differently in West Virginia, I would not have been so blind. I think about her from time to time, where I failed. I still hate that it was taken away from us, I just hope...”

She swallowed back her fears, her paranoid thoughts of what was going on behind their backs. “I just wish they would let us be updated. I’m used to turning over cases after I’m confident on a profile of the unsub but this...just jerking it out our hands and left to wonder. I don’t like it.” 

“What we saw in Alaska, there’s too many similarities to not have some sort of connection to West Virginia. It’s still about Maria in the end,” Laine added, “I haven’t forgotten.” 

Her green eyes gazed past the headstone as she fell silent, her jaw tensing as she worked over memories in silence. 

“I don’t give a shit what Foster says,” Donnelley frowned something dark, heavy brow knit together and his eyes narrowed behind his shades, “Or the Directors. She needs justice.”

He nodded down at Maria’s headstone, such a short amount of time between the two dates. Too short for anybody. The quote beneath it, [i]my feet will want to walk to where you are sleeping, but I shall go on living.[/i] “Pablo Neruda.” Donnelley murmured to himself, remembering how his High School love would pass him notes with different poet’s works on them as they passed in the halls, “Good choice.”

“You never struck me as a poetry person.” Dawant said, his footsteps quiet on the way to them. A voice that neither Donnelley or Laine had heard in a long time, and one that Donnelley had admittedly missed. The voice of someone who wanted to see this through for Maria, no matter the personal cost. He gestured to the squat man next to him, a stocky Latino man with slicked back hair and a full sleeve on either of his arms. A mustache drooped from either end of his lips and his dark eyes were ringed with sadness, “This is Armando Vasquez, Maria’s father.”

“Hello.” Armando nodded to Laine and Donnelley, offering his hand out for a shake, as Donnelley took it he spoke to him, “You’re the people looking for Maria’s…”

He didn’t finish the sentence, but Donnelley knew what he was going to say. Donnelley only nodded, “Yeah.” He said, a quick but tight and joyless smile, “Special Agent John Davidson.”

Laine met eyes with Dawant then Maria’s father, Armando. He had that same look, the deep etched grief and determination that she had seen before on parents of children taken. Even after years the waves of emotion would come, some fell to it and others pushed past and moved on, and some were like Armando. Holding the line and hoping for justice, anything to make some sort of amends to his murdered daughter. 

She used her real name, this was her job, there was no pretending.

“Special Agent Heather Laine,” she said, “It’s...an honor to meet with you. Mr. Dawant, thank you for meeting us again.”

She shook Armando’s hand, meeting his dark eyes. The same eyes Maria had in her photo, deep brown but never so pained. 

She glanced at Donnelley, then at Armando, “We are still working on some leads.”

“Well,” Armando sighed, eyes still on his daughter’s headstone, “I hope… that you’re close.”

“This is my little girl.” He frowned, looked at them with wet eyes, “She was the only one. Mi corazón, you know? You hope maybe one day she’ll just come home, that it was all a joke or she just ran away for the night with some friends… and then it’s years gone.”

Laine closed her eyes briefly, no matter how many times she heard that from someone it still hit her. It was a painful sensation and she was not even a parent, she still had trouble understanding how her colleagues who had children had managed to work in Unit 3. She nodded slightly, then looked at him, “I am sorry for your loss, I wish...at least she’s home and can rest in peace. It’s such a small thing but...now we focus on who did this.” 

She glanced at the headstone, the tender age that Maria’s life was ended at and added, “Continue to share her story, her memories.”

Laine fell silent, this was always the hardest part and she tucked her hands into her jacket, shifting her gaze to Dawant. 

Armando’s lip quivered and he cleared his throat, looking away and pretending to itch at his face. Donnelley knew how he felt, his own daughter around the same age was somewhere here in Washington. Losing her would be losing every good reason he had to watch the sunrises. “Can I, uh,” Armando sniffed and coughed into his fist, “Can I get some time alone with my daughter?”

“Of course, Mister Vasquez.” Dawant laid a hand on the other man’s shoulder and then nodded at Donnelley and Laine, “Let’s talk somewhere private, give the man some time.”

They walked some ways through the paths between the headstones until they’d gotten a fair distance from Armando. The three of them stood silent for a bit, Donnelley idly looking out at the rows and rows of headstones. Dawant cleared his throat, “So,” he said, “Where have you been?”

Laine stepped away from the grieving father, drawing a breath as she did. At his question, she glanced at Donnelley then back at Dawant. “We were sent to look into some other disappearances. Different circumstances but...”

They had no bodies, only Ipitok’s description of what happened to the women given over to appease the Wind Walker. A chill ran up her neck and she hunched her shoulders, “I don’t know what to say, other than we were taken off the case in West Virginia and given this other one. But we have not forgotten her.” 

“I guess that’s fair.” Dawant said, “Can’t see why. Then again, I ain’t a Fed like you two.”

“I’m not gonna bullshit you, Dawant.” Donnelley looked from the headstones to fix Dawant with a healthy dose of anger, “It was taken from us.”

“The fuck? How? Why? How did you find out?” The more Dawant questioned, the angrier he got. 

Donnelley could tell having cases taken away sparked something in Dawant, he answered with a shrug, “I knew because I was fuckin’ right there when they told us all to fuck off. Put us all on administrative leave. I’m only tellin’ you this because you deserve the truth.”

“I’ve worked with FBI before, they’re not known to just throw people off a case for no reason.” Dawant looked at between the two FBI Agents, the real and the fake, “They say anything?”

Laine shook her head, looking once again at Donnelley before she turned to Dawant, “Both cases, West Virginia and this last one, we’ve been taken off. We don’t know why and it’s very frustrating but we’ve not given up. It might be something with the higher ups that we don’t know about or...well, I don’t know to be honest.”

Her brows furrowed slightly, the anger and frustration over the arbitrary removal. The shady shit that had been going down since they found Maria. The leaks, the change in Foster’s attitude and then there was the shadow of Overman. She had not forgotten him despite only briefly having met him, he had set her on edge. 
“I work with the BAU, normally we hand our cases over to other investigating agents or locals, but we don’t have them yanked from us and not allowed to follow up. There’s something strange,” she said, then paused, glancing at Donnelley. “We’re not giving up though.”

Dawant looked stunned, standing there and sighing at his speechlessness, “I heard that shit before.” Dawant snorted ruefully, “I ever tell you how I separated from the force?”

“Wayne Williams. We arrested him and sent his ass to prison for the murders of two [i]white adults[/i].” Dawant’s lip curled up in contempt, “I knew there was a few of them cops would go out on the town after their shifts and beat the shit out of homeless, hookers, anybody couldn’t fight them.”

“And I [i]knew[/i] they tacked on the murders of those black girls and boys to Wayne Williams. I brought it up with IA.” Donnelley and Dawant Elmer eyes then, and then Dawant looked at Laine, “Guess what they told me.”

But he didn’t wait, “We’ll look into that, Detective. Thank you for bringing that to our attention, Detective. Now sit your black ass down and twiddle your fucking thumbs, [i]Detective.[/i]” Dawant shoved his hands in his coat pockets, shaking his head, “Had my vision test scheduled by the Department with their doctor. Ocular degeneration, they said.”

“Let me go after that. Kicked me out the front door. Went to my own eye doctor,” he raised his brows, “Eyes are fucking [i]perfect[/i]. Tell me what that sounds like. Go ahead.”

Laine crossed her arms and shook her head, her dark hair brushing the collar of her jacket. Her teeth ground together and she inhaled sharply, “Fuck those guys,” she muttered, they were the same as those who pushed aside the disappearances of troubled teens or sex workers, all those they could write off as less worthy of trouble. The ones Dawant spoke of were not anything unheard of in other cities and that made it all the worse. 

“Sounds like they were covering themselves, their department,” she said, stating the obvious. The knot in her stomach as she thought about Foster grew, the unease she had felt since they had Maria’s case and everything that surrounded it taken from them and left in the dark, sent to Alaska to be murdered.

Her skin crawled and she hugged herself, then met Dawant’s dark eyes, “We were put on leave, told to forget about West Virginia, about everything that would be followed up by another investigation team. Yet we have no communication with them. No collaboration. It’s not normal, I agree Mr. Dawant.” 

“You get close to something they don’t like, they’ll find a reason.” Dawant nodded, “And if they ain’t got one, they make one. I don’t know who’s in charge of all y’all, but… well, I don’t trust ‘em.”

Laine nodded slowly, unable to look at Donnelley as she agreed, “I don’t trust them either, I hate to say it but this but you learn to trust your gut. But I’ll continue working as I can but I’m aware someone is trying to hinder us.”

More than she would admit to Dawant and the feeling increased only after Foster dismissed them for a long break and said nothing to her even after leaving him with the documents and the USB of the footage. It was hard to reconcile the man with the one that had sat in the truck with her as they waited for Donnelley to show up or the one they had met over lunch with Detective Roy. She tried to tell herself that she did not know Foster, not like Donnelley did and perhaps it was just his way, that he had taken the training wheels off and now treated them like anyone else. But that doubt never left and it was only getting worse. 

“I wish I could do more,” Laine added after a moment. 

“So do I.” Dawant said, frowning, “I’m sorry, by the way. For what it’s worth. It’s not a good feeling, having this happen.”

“No, it ain’t.” Donnelley shook his head and looked away.

“I appreciate the honesty. Even though I’m going to have to establish rapport with some other people I don’t know shit about.” Dawant sighed, “Well, I don’t want to keep either of you longer than you’d like. Thanks for visiting, I know it means a lot to Maria’s parents.”

“Of course, it’s the least we can do. Put a face to this investigation for him, let him know that we… or someone’s on the case.” Donnelley shrugged, “Might help me if I was in his shoes.”

Dawant simply nodded, “I’ll see if Armando’s okay.”

Donnelley looked at Maria’s headstone where they’d left Armando, and the man himself was kneeling in front of it and uttering some prayer. Donnelley shook his head, knowing in the grand scheme of things, the only person who truly cared about Maria’s justice was her mother and father. And if it wasn’t true, Donnelley thought, then tell him why [i]someone[/i] didn’t want him on the case anymore. Donnelley was in denial, but then he died, and now any doubt he had was burned away. Dawant was walking towards Armando and Donnelley followed, if only because his car was the same direction.

As they walked, Donnelley felt the first of the raindrops fall, and as they got closer to Armando and Dawant, the more the rain fell. Donnelley almost couldn’t look Armando in the eye, the only one of the four of them here the most personally touched by the case, and yet the only one the most ignorant to its dismissal. Armando waved Donnelley down from afar and he stopped, swallowed, pointing at himself. Armando nodded. When Donnelley finally got to Armando, Dawant nodded to him, “He wants to talk to whoever is in charge of the case. Just them.”

Donnelley looked to Laine, nodding, “I’ll meet you at the car, I guess.”

When the two of them were finally alone, neither of them spoke for a while. Donnelley noticed that the longer he went on with this case and those cases related in any way to the Program, there were more silences that just seemed to drag themselves out longer and longer, as if any conversation about the case were it’s death throes as it slid back into the oblivion of so many other cold cases just like it. The rain was coming down like a soft mist now as they stood, Armando not caring even though he was clad only in khakis and a t-shirt. 

It was a little while that Donnelley had to wait until Armando spoke, “I’m from Juarez, Mister Davidson.” He began, “So I know how these things go. I’m not stupid. I grew up in the alleys, [i]policia[/i] doesn’t really care about the narco crimes. They can’t do anything about it, and anyone who does dies.”

Donnelley looked at Armando, pretty confident in where this was going, but letting Armando lead him there anyway. He continued, “So I either need to bribe you for a name or accept that there isn’t anything anyone can do.” Armando looked at Donnelley, his eyes that of a father in need of vengeance, “Because, I have money, Mister Davidson.”

Armando and Donnelley shared a moment, Donnelley staring back into Armando’s eyes, until they softened again and he looked away at Maria’s grave, “But I can’t be that angry kid anymore, [i]me sientes?[/i] I still have my wife.” Armando sighed and rubbed at his face, “You know, [i]mi Abuela[/i] used to read me stories from the Bible. My favorite was always the Archangel Michael, the Angel of Justice, righter of wrongs, or whatever.”

“Had a sword of flame to burn away evil, you know?” Armando humorlessly chuckled, “Sometimes I wish I had something like that. Make sure they don’t get away with kidnapping and killing, rape, murder, ruining every life they [i]fucking touch[/i]. If I can’t bring my Maria back, then I’ll make sure someone’s mother has to wear black and cry just like me.”

“Or just purify it all and start over, burn the whole world clean like Michael.” Armando hissed, a deepset frown and furrowed brows as he looked back at Donnelley, fists clenched. He was breathing hard and Donnelley only looked back and listened to him speak his feelings that he’d probably kept locked away from his wife. Armando unclenched his fists and bit his lip, shaking his head and looking away just as deflated as when Donnelley first saw him and muttered, “But, angels aren’t real, are they?”

Donnelley stood and stared down at Maria’s grave, remembering how he found her dumped in some clearing. Like meat. Compost. Food for [i]maggots.[/i] [url= https://open.spotify.com/track/2WSvw7uORGBCM53dofc9rx?si=ubYSrhmRQ7Sf2QIqBTMDMA&dl_branch=1]The rain picked up then[/url], and Donnelley shook his head, brow furrowed and his own dark frown, “No.”