>THE SAFEHOUSE
>BLACKRIVER COUNTY, WEST VIRGINIA
>0630...///
The one good thing about being drunk before sleeping, or being so drunk he was forced to sleep, was the dreams seemed fiction then. Like watching a television rather than his own feet filling the boots or his own hands holding the knife or cradling Guzman’s head. He’d tried going to sleep sober once. It was not something he’d do if he had a choice at all.
boom… and then echoes. He stirred awake quicker than usual, reached for his M4 and as he scrambled for it, he realized it wasn’t there. He looked around himself. He wasn’t in Afghanistan, but there were mountains. West Virginia. He drew in a breath and blew it out his mouth, looking through the bedroom window to see the plume of dust a blasting charge at the mines had thrown up. The Safehouse. He sat up, swinging his legs over the side of the bunk and cradled his face in his hands, fingers tracing the edges of the burn scar as his head throbbed. He stayed like that for he didn’t know how long before he shook himself back to the present, standing and stretching. The familiar pops from his joints after a life of hitting the ground hard and ascending steep climbs with a ruck that weighed the equivalent of another man.
He sniffed at the air. Coffee? Was Laine up before him? He wasn’t surprised, he went to sleep later than she did and drunker than she did as well. He slipped a ratty black t-shirt over himself, the Choking Victim logo long faded to a hint that one would have to squint at to tell. He traded his slacks for sweats and slipped his .40 cal into the right pocket, tying a tight knot in the drawstrings to compensate for the weight that threatened to pull it down to his ankles. He eyed a half-empty water bottle on its side at the foot of his bed. He grasped it up and sucked down the rest of it in hopes of wetting his dry mouth, smacking his lips appreciatively as he threw it back into the covers of his bed. The finishing touch being a cigarette tucked behind his ear.
He put his hand on the knob, but froze. There wasn’t any conversation outside yet there was a stirring, a creaking of the floorboards and the sound of someone humming and quietly singing something. It was just Laine and him then. If he hadn’t been such an ass last night perhaps he could’ve strolled into the kitchen and waved at her, making himself a cup of coffee and ask how she slept, but…
Fuck it, that’s what he was going to do. He turned the knob and pulled the door open, closing it behind him and then standing in place. Laine was indeed already up and about, but she had not taken notice of his presence. She stood at the counter, sink on one side of her and cooking range on the other, bowl of soon-to-be scrambled eggs in one hand and her other beating it to rhythmic hell with a fork. He didn’t realize he was staring until he had to roll his eyes away from appreciating how the goddamn light from the window fell over her. She put it down and went for something else, prompting him to flinch back into a conspicuous walk to the island table in the kitchen. On which was a clean mug next to her filled one, coffee still steaming in hers. He grasped the cup by the handle, stepping quietly as he carefully placed it under the Black Budget Keurig’s spigot, replacing Laine’s used cartridge with a fresh French Roast one and letting the machine go to work with a press of a button. He turned around, leaning on the counter and watched Laine work at the morning’s breakfast, the dark-haired woman still utterly oblivious to his relaxed, folded arm presence in the corner of the kitchen behind her. He watched her mouth the words to some song, humming along at other parts. He finally picked it out. He smirked. Suicidal Tendencies. Another flash of normalcy. Another chiding shake of his head and sigh. She’s a colleague, his inner voice spoke, You fucking child.
“Look.” He said finally, the words trudging out of him like a funeral procession, “I didn’t mean anything by last night. I know it isn’t any business of mine and it really shouldn’t matter to me who calls you what.”
His eyes were on the floor and he could feel himself curling over like a guilty pet. She just kept on doing what she’d been and Donnelley instantly recognized the age-old unsaid ‘fuck off’ of the cold shoulder. Holly was a fan of it. There was an ache in his chest at that, a feeling that he was ankle-deep in shit. “Laine, I know I acted very unprofessional last night. I’m just trying to apologize for my behavior and I’m sorry if I offended you.”
Still no answer. And the shit rose to his knees. He sighed, closing his eyes and hanging his head, “I get it.” He breathed, nodding slow, “For the sake of the case we can just start over. No bullshit about someone who’s known you way damn longer than I have calling you by whatever name. Okay?”
No answer, and this time she actually turned away from him, giving him her back. He just wanted to take his coffee and hole up in his room like an angst-ridden younger Donnelley might have. He let out a harsh sigh and began to leave for his room, brushing a defeated hand through his hair, “Fuck, Donnelley...”
Laine flipped the bacon and went back to mixing the eggs, beating a good half dozen with a touch of milk, whisking them to the rhythm of one of her favorite Suicidal songs. She was dressed like she had just rolled out of bed, which she had, still in the faded back t shirt with the modesty of putting on some yoga pants. Her bare feet padded over the polished wood, neat pedicured toenails painted glossy black and dark hair swept back, a small clip holding the short locks out of her face as she cooked.
She went about the business of breakfast, stirring eggs and watching the browning potatoes, completely oblivious as the music blasted into her ears. Her favorite part of the song was coming up and she called out in not quite a full shout, “But here’s my apology, FUCK YOU!”
Donnelley’s shoulders flinched up and he turned slowly, mouth slightly agape. He looked at her and knew every little joke they shared was tossed aside, “Laine, I…”
When she spun around on the balls of her feet she finally noticed Donnelley staring at her and realization hit as she popped the ear buds out, “Oh hey, sorry about that, dude! I didn’t see you. Good morning, how’s your head?”
Donnelley’s brow furrowed even more and he tried to hide his face behind the mug, taking a long sip. When it came away from his face, he forced a smile. It was all just a misunderstanding, he told himself. The ache in his chest needn’t be worried over, it’s all fine now. But it wasn’t, and he resigned himself to sitting at the island table. “You know. Night of drinking. About as good as I could hope after that.” He replied, his smile coming back with a bit more sincerity, “D’you sleep good?”
She smiled a bit, her makeup gone except the raccoon eye remnants of her eyeliner as she had not hit the shower yet. “Yeah, I slept soundly, a little vodka and horrific murder just puts me out. I hope you’re hungry, I’m making enough for a small army.”
Laine glanced over at him, watching him drink his coffee before she poured the eggs into a buttered pan. “How about you? Feeling alright?”
“Yeah,” He was still smiling at her earlier quip as he looked into his mug before taking another sip. Gallows humor and survival and all that. He looked at her, shrugging, “Just a… an awkward start to my morning s’all.”
He leaned over and glanced at the food, feeling his stomach churn with hunger. He smiled as he put his ass back in his chair, “You looking to feed Whitetree with all that ‘cause you just might.”
“My dad always made us a huge Sunday breakfast, just in case we had visitors. His family was one of those that would make the rounds after church,” she said, looking wistfully out the window at the pine trees beyond the drive that only held the Chrysler and her rental Hyundai. She then shrugged, giving him a small grin. “Plus it helps with hangovers, grease and fat and caffeine.”
Laine set a plate in front of him, fluffy eggs and crisp bacon and hashbrowns. She had her own food and most important her cup of dark coffee. She stepped aside to turn off the burners, covering the eggs with a plate. “Awkward?”
She sat down, her face flushed pink and she sighed a soft self deprecating laugh, “Oh yeah, awkward. I’m really sorry about yelling ‘fuck you’ at you. It’s the song, I’m sure you know it. ‘You Won’t Bring Me Down’. One of my wake up tunes.”
She sipped her coffee and dug in, not shy about eating heartily. Laine kept a side eye on Donnelley, he seemed bothered by more than just her accidental cussing out, it certainly wasn’t the first time he had heard that phrase. “Unlike what it seems, I am not a morning person, it’s something I have to force myself into. I can’t do anything until I have coffee. Once that hits and I have a shower, I’ll be ready to be Doctor Laine.”
“Well, then, Miss Laine,” He smirked, forking some eggs into his mouth and finishing chewing, “You sure still know how to remedy a hangover.”
His mind returned to last night. No matter the fact the subject felt so far away from her it still stuck close to him, seeming to breathe down his neck every moment it got. He wondered if he should apologize anyway, now that he had her attention. Then he wondered if it would be more tactful to just shut up about it. “Laine,” Damnit, “I’m sorry about last night.”
Laine bit into a piece of bacon, done to crisp perfection and nodded at his observation of her hangover cure. Menudo was more traditional in the heavily Mexican influenced LA but this she knew how to make. As she ate, she could sense his tension, in the way he held himself and the furrows in his brow. Laine waited for Donnelley, this was a man who could not be pushed.
When he spoke, she turned to look at him. Her dark ringed eyes still calm and observant as he apologized. Setting her fork down, she turned her body slightly as she gave him her attention.
“Why are you sorry?” she said, “It’s not the drinking, I remember the flask. Last night was a nice distraction after the autopsy and you were kind enough to keep me company shopping.”
He sighed a chuckle, smiling softly at her, “Anytime.” He nodded. He wondered if he should just leave it at that, pretend that was exactly what he was talking about and they could both go on with their lives. But Donnelley never did things, never let things go easy, “It’s not the drinking though. It’s…”
“You were right.” He looked away from her, his hand dropping and leaving his fork on his plate, finding it too hard to look her in the eye with this, “What’s it matter. I shouldn’t have brought up Bakker calling you by your first name, he’s known you way longer than I have. I’m just some guy you met a couple months ago.”
Laine bit the inside of her lip, her brows drawing together slightly as he confessed why he was sorry. “Oh, yes, that. You’re right, it wasn’t your business,” she said, then softened her smoke husky voice, “I accept your apology. It’s not something I wanted to get into and it’s nothing that matters now. You’re not just some guy, by the way.”
She finished her coffee, then set her mug down, “I like you, Donnelley. You’re pretty cool. You know, for a black booted CIA spook.”
Laine winked at him slyly then stood and scraped her plate, setting it in the sink.
Donnelley laid a hand over his heart and bit his lip, “Oh, that kinda hurts.” He chuckled, “Go ahead and get about your morning, I’ll take care of the dishes.”
He forked up the last of his eggs and crunched down the bit of bacon he had left before he stood. He swallowed it down just as he set his plate in the sink, pulling the cigarette from behind his ear and placing it between his lips, “Thank you. Food was good.” He smiled at her as he walked to the front door and then looked outside the peephole at the sound of crunching gravel beneath tire treads. Then he saw her. “Who the fuck?”
He wasted no time in reaching into his pocket and thumbing the safety off on his handgun. He didn’t have to check the chamber. He always had one in there. He let her knock as he took in her face. Young. Pretty. She didn’t look like someone from town sent to kill him and everyone threatening to break down their sliver of backwoods.
He opened the door, as she knocked and called out at anybody inside. He sucked his teeth, summoning his best authoritative voice well-honed from his time as a Deputy and years in the military, the Texan in his voice apparent. “Think you’ve got the wrong house, ma’am.”
“Nope, Foster sent me - motherfucker.” The voice came back with it’s own Texan twang to it, unheard of in such parts of old Western Virginia. She sounded a bit annoyed, but not Texan pissed, such a fabled mood was seldom except for those who could not control their inner rage.
Donnelley narrowed his eyes at the last bit, the frown on his face twitching a hair deeper, “What?” He leaned in closer, “Don’t think I heard you right.”
Then he heard his phone ring from the other room. It was either Foster calling him to let him know there was a very last minute decision or to notify him that they were all compromised and a small, petite blonde Texan was coming to ventilate his skull. He nodded inside, “Get in here.”
"Took y'all long enough." Hauling her big ol' bag of luggage in with her before sliding it off to the side. "Senior Airman Weissman, pleasure to be of service to ya old man" she said sticking her hand for a lil hand shaky with the head honcho. She was definitely a saucy one.
At the disturbance at the door, Laine popped her head around to see what was going on. The exchange was brief but telling and she ducked back into the kitchen. Serving a plate and setting out another cup, she grabbed her phone and strolled out. “Welcome, I’m Dr Laine, there’s some breakfast waiting if you haven’t eaten. And coffee, plenty of coffee. Looks like you and Mr Donnelley probably have some things to work out so I’m going to grab a shower.”
As she passed Donnelley, she whispered to him, “Don’t kill her.”
Laine vanished into the bathroom after a stop into the women’s bunkroom for her shower bag and towel.
Donnelley regarded the hand and then looked to Weissman for a few good, tense seconds. He took the offered hand. “Joseph Donnelley, OGA.” He put his hands on his hips and nodded at the plate Laine had made, “Eat or not. I’m going outside for a smoke, you can join me if you want. I want to know why you’re here past Foster sending me young cubs to babysit.”
Old Guy Association (OGA), Gwen never thought they existed. Regardless, Gwen was happy enough to go and take the plate. Free food is free food, the Doc chick was pretty nice she thought as she scarfed down the food. After kicking back some killer coffee she went to meet the man who wanted the answers.
"Yea, I'm here to hack shit and do a lot of electronic wizardry." She said proudly. Now taking out her Cophagen Wintergreen giving it a few spanks before packing a mini-hog.
“Oh, good,” Donnelley smirked and dryly added, “If one of us forgets our passwords you can get it back. Appreciate it.”
Tom had woken up at zero five thirty. It was a habit he couldn’t break. It didn’t matter what time he went to bed, he always seemed to wake at zero dark thirty. The sun was just on the horizon; beginning morning nautical twilight or BMNT was here. The day would get gradually brighter as it went on.
Tom stood, moved to the closet, kicking the chute in deeper. Opening his duffel, he pulled out a pair of OD green running shorts and the white T-shirt. He pulled on his running shoes and headed downstairs. He could hear snoring coming from a room in the hall. He ran out the back door and hit the dirt road. He preferred to explore his surroundings on his own when he had time. At 5:45 in the morning, he had time.
The road went on for just under a mile and a half when he hit a paved road appearing to need serious repairs or at least just patching. The local highway department would get to it eventually, if it was in the budget.
‘Colonel Miller is pretty understanding letting me take off like this. I know it was work related, but technically even the FBI needs to let their employees take off time for Reserve training. But I’m not complaining. I want to be here.’ Tom ran along the paved road lost in his thoughts. He remembered Jill and their unborn child. He thought of names like Robert after his father or possibly Tom Jr. with a nickname of TJ. Maybe something totally different. His grandfather was Joseph and he had an uncle Randy, er Randall. Maybe not a boy. What about girls names? Let Jill choose? No. How about Michelle, Cheryl, Margot or Clarice? He then sang running cadences in his head.
After a half hour of running, he figured he was out about three or three and a half miles, turned and began heading back to the safehouse. His thoughts turned to the team. He thought about Mr. Donnelly. He didn’t know the man well enough but appeared to be competent in his work. It didn’t matter what he was like as long as he did his job. At least he brought beers to drink when it was all over. Couldn’t fault a man for his generosity. Heather Laine had called him when he was at home. He was able to follow up some leads that might help her. He would need to share that with her later. Lieutenant Gomez and Mr. Mathius seemed quite capable too. Gomez was a bit high strung at times. He looked forward to seeing Mr. Clark and Jason Jimenez. They were both good guys. He liked working with other military types even if he was an army doggy. They at least knew what they were doing.
Tom hit the dirt road and continued toward the safehouse. A nondescript car approached him from the direction of the house. Tom’s law enforcement and military training couldn’t be impeded. He eyeballed the unimpressed blonde haired gentleman driving the vehicle. He appeared to be close in age to himself and in decent shape. Probably worked out in a gym. He also looked like he could have been part Asian.
He slowed to a walk at about a hundred yards from the building and walked for his cool down. As he approached the house, he spied Mr. Donnelly on the front porch with a young blonde haired woman. She was cute and almost as tall as he and Donnelly; well maybe a few inches shorter, but still tall for a woman. “Hello Mr. Donnelly,” Tom announced walking to the porch, wearing a sweaty white T-shirt and green shorts. He obviously wasn’t carrying any bags. But his hair was cut to the typical US Marine Corps High and Tight length.
“Tom!” Donnelley waved and smiled as the footsteps on the gravel driveway and parking lot of the Safehouse revealed themselves to be none other than Special Agent Stewart, “My favorite Marine. Went on a run?”
He looked around the mostly vacant gravel lot and spotted only his car, the Chrysler. He looked at Tom with some lighthearted confusion and jokingly asked, “You didn’t just run all the way here, did you?”
Tom laughed at that comment. “No sir, I arrived last night,” Tom responded. “I believe it was a little after 2330.” Tom didn’t want to admit exactly how he arrived right away.
“Did you…” Donnelley’s face screwed up with some genuine curiosity, his smirk playing at the edges of his lips, “Missus drop you off, or?”
“Dropped off?” Tom laughed at that. “In a manner of speaking, I was dropped off, but not by the missus. It was courtesy of the US Marine Corps. In fact, it was a V-22 from about two thousand feet up. I parachuted in, boss.”
Donnelley smirked. At Tom’s continued expectant silence the smirk became a chuckle. Then a laugh as he fully realized Tom was being dead serious. “Goddamn, cowboy, I like the way you do things.” Donnelley sniffled and nodded, “Wish I’d been there to witness the justification of budget.”
Tom gave a wink and a smile at the mention of the budget. “Thanks boss,” Tom spoke in his typical Boston accent. “Oh yea, do you know how to rig a chute? We learned in Airborne school and yea, that was about twelve years ago. I should pack it before I go back.” Tom asked Mr. Donnelly. Then smelled the kitchen. “Is that bacon and eggs I smell? Coffee too?”
“Courtesy of our good Doctor Laine, yes it is.” Donnelley jerked his thumb over his shoulder, “Go on, get your chow. We’ve got a morning ahead of us.”
Tom started to enter the house, then asked the obvious question, “Who’s the new girl? Does she work for the farm? Or one of us now?”
“Go on, then,” Donnelley rose his brows at Gwen, “Introduce yourself to the nice man.”
Gwen went to go spit some dip outside before responding. "Weissman, hackergirl." A familiar Texan twang was attached to her voice.
Tom extended his right hand. He spoke in a Boston accent, “Stewart, Tom. I work for the Bureau, among other things. Very nice to meet you. I’m going to head inside. I’ll talk to you later.” Tom entered the house in search of breakfast.
"Cool." Gwen simply remarked making a mental note to creep his social media if he had any. She turned back to Donny. "So yea Foster hired me, you got a PC for lil ol' me?"
“Whatever you brought is what you got.” Donnelley said, smirking at his own unintended writing as he rolled out the cherry on his cigarette before flicking the filter away someplace, “Let’s head inside.”
As Donnelley opened the door and presumed that Gwen would follow, he took his seat at the island counter in the center of the kitchen, “Texas?” He asked, he knew she would know what he was asking.
"Del Rio and you ?" She said strolling in taking out her spitter to spit some dip into it.
“Spit of dirt little south of Dalhart.” Donnelley shrugged, “It’s a shithole but it was my shithole for a bit. Take ten steps and you’ll stub your toes on a meth house.”
He spat the last couple words with some venom, before turning his attention to Stewart, “Tom, I assume you have a storied history in Boston. Care to regale us?”
Tom put a breakfast together, consisting of eggs, bacon and black coffee. He sat down with the others and began eating the meal. “Storied? Well, I don’t know how interesting it is. You don’t want to hear about murder investigations. Especially not at breakfast.” He really didn’t want to talk about those. “How should I dress for the day, boss? I brought a suit just in case you needed me to play the FBI role,” Tom mentioned to avoid any uncomfortable conversations.
"Hmpf, cool." She said strutting into the cabin. She sat down at the table with the rest of them, looking them over. Maybe she was going to ventilate their skulls.
“Anything business. Look official, you know the drill.” He answered Tom as he grabbed a piece of bacon from the paper towel lined plate the stack of them rested on, “Play the FBI role. I am.”
He winked at Tom, “Special Agent John Davidson is my name when we get anywhere outside the Safehouse.” He smirked, talking around a mouthful of bacon, “I’ll give y’all a full briefing when we get to the town Doc. But, you know, don’t want to talk about any of that at breakfast.”
“No problem, Agent Davidson,” Tom smirked as he ate his egg. “I may just call you agent Davidson and John just to get used to the sound so I don’t slip up later.”
Donnelley nodded, offering his hand out to Tom as if they were colleagues meeting for the first time, “Please, just John.”
“OK, John,” Tom shook his hand after placing his fork down. He scooped up the mug and took a sip of the coffee before returning to the fork. “Where’s Heather? Oh, my mistake, Doctor Laine?”
Dr Laine was just getting out of the shower, wrapped in the oversized towel that was fluffy and indulgent, certainly no military regulation towel supplied in the cabin. She had bought it at the mall, a luxury she could not resist. She peeked out the door, then stepped out to make a hasty retreat back to the woman's bedroom, tip toeing along the wooden floor.
Once she was in the room, she towel dried her hair and began her getting ready for the day ritual. Loud music in the empty room, hairdryer blaring and her offkey singing, a person who definitely used to living alone. Laine put on light makeup for the small town, people like this thought a woman to be whorish in anything other than casual nude tones. She dressed in black slacks and a long sleeved black turtleneck, making sure all her tattoos were covered. Unable to surrender all her style to backwater standards she wore her silver skull earrings and four inch black heels. Hopefully no stumbling in the woods but just in case, Laine grabbed her Converse sneakers and shoved them in her leather purse.
Once she was ready, she strolled out of the room and saw the gathering around the table, enjoying the breakfast. “Hey, Tom, just get in?”
“Hey Heather, how’s it going?” Tom asked with a smile on his face. “Thanks for breakfast.”
“My pleasure, I love cooking for people,” she said, taking another Keurig cup out of the cupboard to place in the coffee maker. “Especially when I don’t have to clean up.”
Laine flashed a brief smile towards Donnelley, then put the egg pan into the sink. “Eggs are the worst.”
“Mhm.” Donnelley grunted, wordlessly getting to work on the dishes. Which consisted of turning on the sink to fill up the pots and bowls, giving Laine a smirk, “Just gonna let them soak a bit.”
“Oh yea, before I forget. That John Doe that washed ashore in Cohasset was connected to the Russian Mafia. His name was Anatoly Mikhailov. He was 32 years old and born in Voronezh, Russia. He spent time in the Russian Spetsnaz before immigrating to the US. He had a residence in Brighton Beach. Haven’t figured out how he ended up in Massachusetts yet.” Tom wanted to pass that along to Heather before too long. “I can include it in an email when I get back to Boston if you like. Just so you know, my marine reserve unit is training only about 20 miles south of here near Charleston. If you were in the area, you may have seen military vehicles moving about in town or V-22 Ospreys flying over head. We’ve been borrowing West Virginia National Guard vehicles.”
“I knew it, those damn Adidas tracksuits,” Laine commented on the identification of the washed up body. She wanted to ask about the Jane Doe but her concern was more about their Jane Doe in town. Not enough to bring it up as people still ate, it was a stomach turning conversation topic.
She turned, waiting for her coffee to finish and leaned against the counter. In her stilettos she was as tall as Donnelley and almost as tall as Tom, there was an unspoken communication of power when it came to height so damn the aching arches. “I was in town but I hadn’t noticed, I was shopping.”
Laine laughed a little at herself, then turned to fetch her mug now that the machine was done. “Did you get dropped off with Weissman then?”
Donnelley’s only comment was a soft snort at how Tom said he’d gotten to the Safehouse.
“Weissman?” Tom thought, must be talking about the newbie. “Ah, Gwen. No, I did not. I jumped in last night around 2330.”
Laine was blowing on her coffee then her pursed lips paused and she raised her brows, looking over her glasses at Tom, “Jumped?”
“Yea, you know those V-22’s I mentioned?” Tom paused to sip his coffee. “They are from Chambers Field in Virginia. They are here to support out annual training at Kanawha State Forest. I requisitioned a parachute from their squadron and parachuted into the parking lot out front around 2330 last night.”
She stared at him for a moment then laughed, shaking her head with an indulgent smile and said one word, “Marines.”
“Right?” The Army boy in Donnelley smirked.
Tom had finished his breakfast and still smelled from his run that morning. “If you will excuse me, I need to go shower and get ready for the day.” Tom stood up and placed his dishes near the sink. He left the room and headed upstairs.
Laine turned her gaze to Weissman, studying the younger woman for a quiet moment as she sipped her coffee. “How about you, Airforce right? I think I’m the only one not ex military. I’m sorry I missed the introduction, I’m with the Bureau, the actual FBI not like Davidson here. Behavioral Analysis Unit.”
"I'm still active duty, yea I'm with the air force 67th Cyberspace Operations Group, out of Lackland AFB. What's with all the cops I thought this was like a hacking op." She said just chilling at the table, looking around maybe processing everyone here was some kind of spook or some kind of expert.
“There’s a murder we’re looking into, you are here to help I take it,” Laine replied.
Laurie opened the door, chewing on some wild garlic with a few stalks left in his hands. “Shup.” He said through the chewing, tapping his forelock with index and middle finger before taking off his hat. “Who’re you?” the Ranger queried, looking at the newcomer as he went to lean on a chair.
“Another surprise,” Laine observed Laurie sauntering into the cabin, then nodded at the covered plate of food. “There’s still some breakfast, if that uh...grass isn’t filling. Bacon, scrambled eggs, and hashbrowns, help yourself.”
“You know, between you and Laurie, I think I’m going to feel like a dad again.” Donnelley shook his head as he watched Laurie chomping on a weed he’d found outside. “Just don’t make me get the kid leashes.”
He shook his head at Laurie with an amused grin and turned back to Gwen, “It is a hacking op. For you. And if we need a drone piloted it’s all you, Airman.” Donnelley popped the last morsel of bacon in his mouth and dusted off his hands, talking around his mouthful, “Sadly, we don’t have an air conditioned pilot station and a hangar for your Predator drone out back so I hope the Air Force taught you how to ruck too.”
"Fuck." She said spitting some more dip into her spitter. "Knew I should of said no." In reality she was glad to be out of Texas, but sad it was no hotel gig. 0 stars for this cabin and cabal.
“You can ruck can’t you?” He looked at Laurie and then realized he didn’t remember the guy getting to the Safehouse. “When did you get here? Where do y’all keep coming from?”
Laine caught the reference about Donnelley being a Dad, it should not be surprising since he had been married but it was all the same. She tried to imagine him as such and then ducked her face, trying not to smile. Kid leashes. Maybe she should have bought juice boxes.
“I’m glad I’m only having to carry my shoulder holster and a notebook,” Laine said, raising her cup of coffee in a gleeful reference to the heavy backpacks.
Laurie giggled at the Doctor’s words, nodding gratefully as he went over to make himself and impromptu sandwich wedging eggs and bacon between hashbrowns and placing a bit of his wild garlic in there too. He wasn’t really hungry, but he’d eat a fucking pride of lions and an endangered whale if it was free. “Myeah, I ruck.” He said to Donnelly, initially with hesitation and then resignation realizing he’d be made carry a quite literal shit ton of stuff either way. “Got here real early in the morning, if you didn’t see the ‘cycle. Just had a gander through the woods and all, didn’t feel like a sleep. Don’t worry I’ll double fist some monsters or whatever the fucking zoomers drink to stay awake.” Taking a great big bite. “Y’all mind if I finish these babies?” he queried, looking at the remnants of the breakfast that he hadn’t yet devoured.
"So, hick - you dip?" She said asking Laurie.
Laurie kept chewing after the question came, masticating a few times more before swallowing. “Sure.” he said, leaning over meaningfully under the assumption she was offering.
Gwen sauced her saucy tin of Copenhagen Wintergreen over to the man on the table with one hand. She then went to spit some out into her spitter.
“Unless we have others showing up, go ahead,” Laine said, there was not much left of the eggs anyway. “Help yourself.”
Laurie took a bit of the dip and put it on his plate, before saying something indeterminate in gratitude to Laine as he pounded down all that was left of the breakfast like an industrial machine, sliding the tin right back. The lady hadn’t answered him on who she was, but anyone that gave free dip was good enough in his book. Finishing up he licked his fingers and then went to wash them before drying them off. “I’ve got most of my shit ready on my bike, I’m ready when y’all are.”
She eyed the young woman’s dip can and tried not to make a face, she smoked after all. But a lady didn’t spit. Laine bit back a grin then stepped out of the kitchen to get her gear ready for the day. In her room she put on said shoulder holster, checking the standard FBI issue Glock 9mm to make sure it was loaded and then secured it under her arm. It snugged up against her breast and after a few adjustments finally felt as comfortable as it would get. Laine did not often have to wear it unless she was active in the field and as she was BAU it was not a regular basis.
Inside her purse were her sneakers and wallet, a packet of latex gloves and a few Ziploc bags and her cigarettes, lighter and small makeup bag. A switchblade and a can of mace, her phone charger and camera along with a small notebook with her thoughts on the case and names and numbers to remember was shoved in with a few pens. The purse was black leather, designer but sleek and modest with a shoulder strap. In all honesty she would have carried a backpack and dressed in jeans but as an FBI psychologist she learned to project a certain aura. Power, authority, intelligence and intimidation all in one package. Laine slid her black frame glasses back onto her face and touched up her modest lipstick.
Smoothing the trim dark blazer over the shoulder holster, Laine walked back out, ready to roll.
After the shower, Tom dressed in a pair of navy blue dockers slacks with the FBI shield in its belt holder at his waist and the Gerber leatherman also on the belt in the rear. He put on a white cotton button down shirt and a red necktie with navy blue diagonal stripes. He then put on the tactical boots with the Gerber Mark 2 survival knife tucked into the boot and under his pant leg. The last article of clothing would be the herringbone gray jacket, which he would put on later when he needed to. Inside his duffel, he had a small bag to put a kit together to take with him. It contained: two sets of Peerless handcuffs, several flex cuffs, a first aid kit, rubber gloves, assorted chem lites and a notepad. The Sig .40 cal was placed in the shoulder holster under his left arm. The M4 was too large for the bag, but he would put it in the trunk of the car and use it if needed. Inside the bag would go the eight magazines filled with .223 caliber ammunition along with the throat mic communications equipment if needed. His FBI identification was placed inside the top left breast inside pocket of his jacket along with three Cuban cigars and a zippo lighter.
Tom hefted the small bag, his jacket and the carbine to carry downstairs. Everyone else was busying themselves with getting their equipment together for the day’s mission. He knew they were investigating a murder; expecting there would be complications since it fell to UMBRA, as an experienced investigator he was naturally curious what it was all about.
>ROAD TO FBI CJIS FACILITY...///
Donnelley had elected Tom drive the Chrysler to the CJIS compound based solely on the fact that the majority of them didn’t have FBI IDs, real or fabricated. Tom and Laine took the two front seats, which left Donnelley squeezed into the back with Gwen and Laurie. It had been a quiet drive filled only with sparse small talk up until they got close to the facility. Donnelley has not been in the mood for banter after he stuffed the bag which held the shard into the trunk of the Chrysler. That thing was not meant to be seen, and he had the urge to bury it somewhere nobody could find it again.
Laine had notified Bakker to meet them there where he had moved the body of their Jane Doe and Donnelley figured there were a few things the team needed to know before they stepped foot inside the facility. “Alright, first things first,” He opened from the back seat, “Nobody better fucking even utter the name Joseph Donnelley in there. I’m Special Agent John Davidson to these people.”
“When we get there, everyone but Tom and Laine shuts up. If anybody asks who you two are,” he turned his head to Gwen and Laurie, “You’re studying under Doctor Laine. No more than that. Anybody presses, Tom and I can tell them to kindly fuck off.”
With that, the CJIS facility’s front gates were in sight. Just as planned and without incident, Tom and Laine flashed their identification and they were waved through. They made their deeper into the campus and following Laine, they were able to make it to the freezer rooms. Small drawers that may or may not have contained bodies. Bakker had not yet arrived, which left the team standing around to do nothing in the cold room, which was a welcome reprieve from the summer heat.
Gwen kinda just muddled around following Laine, not really understanding the purpose of some dead dude. She kept her laptop handy and her handy stuff handier on her, she just took in the shitty sights of the CJIS facility and kept quiet. Which in all, was really really hard to do. She just wanted to scream, or yawn but she stopped herself because one of these guys may snap her neck. Also, she got free breakfast earlier.
Tom parked the Chrysler and walked with Dr. Laine to the morgue. “I always hated coming to these places,” Tom admitted quietly. “Dead bodies just give me the creeps. But what creeps me more is when they aren’t really dead.” The temperature today was only in the upper 70s, maybe 80. Tom opted to leave the suit jacket on.
As Tom and Laine stepped out of the car, Laurie leaned out to say he wasn't coming. "Yeah uhh, tell the boss I ain't coming. I'll stay here, hold the fort and be in reserve in case them jap-porn monsters start appearing. Then I can heroically save your asses, otherwise I'll just sit here do a bit of reading and you can give me the spark notes after when I need it for… You know, my real job." With that, he shut the door, pulled out his Bible and started to do precisely what he promised.
“What the heck are we lookin for?” Gwen asked no one specifically but in a quiet tone as to not to earn the wrath from the team or security.
“Doctor Bakker.” Donnelley frowned, leaning on an exam table with his arms crossed. He rolled his shoulders in the blue long-sleeved button up he wore. Goddamn, he hated dressing up. “Y’all seen dead bodies before right?”
“More than I ever wanted to,” Tom responded.
“Yeah, this one time we had a AC-130. I wasn’t piloting cus it wasn’t no drone, but I saw the live footage and damn those things can zoom in like a microscope. This taliban van, well it got talibammed by a 40mm cannon. Insane, really crazy. Why didn’t we just facetime or skype this Doc is he like one of those old men who meet in person only?” Gwen said, not really impressed by the whole covert op to find some old doctor. Sometimes technology just helped you find people, old or not.
“Yeah, why don’t we FaceTime this Doc?” Donnelley asked, a small smirk as he added, “Then again, he is so very important and much needed.”
“If I had a PHD I would facetime people, on appointment of course.” Gwen added to Donnely’s remark.
Laine turned her head, huffing a soft laugh at the comments. “He just texted me, he’s in the parking lot. Facetime is fine but face to face is preferable, I guess I’m old fashioned.”
On cue, Dr Alex Bakker rounded the corner and entered the room, pausing at the size of the crowd. His reddish blonde hair was tastefully messy, purposefully combed that way and he wore casual dark brown slacks and a blazer over a t-shirt. “Circus in town?” he asked, his gaze moving from Laine to Donnelley briefly then he scanned their faces. “Alright, let’s get on with this, I had to self medicate to sleep last night. I hope you catch whoever did this.”
“First time, Precious?” Donnelley muttered ever so softly at his comment of self medicating. Weed? Or alcohol? Now that was the question on sliding scale of tragedy.
He held out a folder with the FBI stamp on it. “Your official unofficial Jane Doe autopsy report.”
“What does the report state as cause of death?” Tom Stewart asked.
“Oh, you’ll want to hear this.” Donnelley smirked at Tom, leaving it at that. The humor was of course a defense mechanism, tried and true for Donnelley. In truth, the body’s internal state and missing organs gave him a creeping anxiety.
Dr Bakker nodded then opened the report, his free hand going to the pocket of his blazer to hide the fidgeting fingers. “First, I’m Dr Bakker, FBI forensic examiner at Quantico. I’m sure Dr Laine told you. Nice to see you again, Agent Davidson. Now, the rest of you I don’t know and if you wish give me your names I probably won’t remember them no offense. I’m going straight home after this and I hope to never see you again.”
His eyes darted to Laine, then muttered, “I’ll see you at work when I pack my things.”
‘Tom intended to tell Dr. Bakker his name. It was the polite thing to do, but after that introduction, maybe it was best just to remain silent about the introductions.’ “Ok, maybe you could just tell us what you found?”
“Right,” he said, “Jane Doe, estimated age 16-23 years, found in wooded location just off a trail. She was disposed of there, the body had been moved from wherever the original crime scene was. Cause of death...”
He squinted his eyes and said, “Massive internal hemorrhaging caused by a foreign object. I believe it to have been inserted somehow, most likely vaginal as extensive abrasions and lacerations were found through her cervix and uterus which was punctured by the...hell I don’t know what it was. It looks like a shard of obsidian or stone. Black...very black.”
Bakker paused, a faraway look in his dark blue eyes as he fumbled his hand in his pocket. Blinking hard he continued, “It tore through her, her reproductive organs, it lacerated her liver, right lung and embedded itself in her aorta.”
He breathed out, then said, “She was also mutilated. Her tongue was cut out, her vocal chords...and most obvious, she was skinned from head to toe. Every bit of dermal layer removed.”
His hand gripped into a fist in his jacket pocket and he cleared his throat, “This was not done posthumously.”
Gwen was uninterested in the whole attitude the Doc had Tom had gone as far as just plain up ask him what’s the dice for this whole thing and made the guy a bit scared. She went up to Bakker and put a consolidating hand on his shoulder.
"Don’t worry Doc we'll find this damned serial killer. Don’t mind my partner, Agent Muldoon." She said gesturing to Tom. "We're just trying to get the pieces we need to find this sunbitch." She said smiling.
Bakker glanced at the blonde, then at her hand and managed a nod of acknowledgement.
Though Donnelley had been smirking at the beginning, he now stood with his eyes closed and thumb resting on his lip. His head seemed to hang lower and lower as Bakker gave the team the rundown of what he’d found out. Finally, he thrust his thumb over his shoulder at the freezer drawers, voice solemn, “Where is she?”
“As distasteful as it may seem, I would like to view the corpse.”Tom mentioned to reinforce what Donnelley was implying. Tom turned to Gwen, “Could you take him out into the hall? He appears to not have the stomach for this sort of thing.” He was referring to Laurie Mathieu.
Laine listened, her face a mask of calm but inside her stomach knotted, the details now clearly telling a tale of torture and brutal murder. She had hoped at least the skinning had been done after death but the young woman was not even allowed that mercy. Her eyes scanned over the team, watching their reactions. Her gaze lingered on Donnelley then returned to Bakker. His stress etched on the fine lines around his eyes and dark circles. She doubted he had slept much and he was normally out like a light no matter what. She stayed silent, not feeling the need to push into the situation, just to observe.
"Of course, Agent Muldoon." She says walking out gesturing to the ol' Ranger to follow her out.
Tom held a stoic, semi-placid appearance. He had seen many corpses over the past five or more years during his time with the bureau.
Bakker folded the flap of the report folder over and put it under his arm, “I’ll get her out for you.”
He moved to the middle row, last drawer on the small freezer wall. Unlatching it, he drew out the stainless steel table, rolling out in a smooth motion and on it lay a petite figure that looked more like a muscle anatomy illustration than a former living human being. Her chest was still split open, closed only with medical staples that could be easily removed to examine the internal organs. She would be sewn up later and buried, hopefully one day to be returned to a family missing their daughter.
Tom pulled a pair of rubber gloves out of a breast pocket and slipped them on. He noticed the lack of flesh on the corpse, finding that aspect quite peculiar as well as telling about the killer. The detail to remove the flesh in its entirety from a human was a voluminous clue. “You say the flesh was removed while she was still alive?” Tom asked the question rhetorically. He hadn’t missed that tidbit, but saying it aloud impacted on himself more solidly that simply recalling it. “
Bakker stood aside, putting on his own gloves and nodded, “Yes, the marks we found on her muscles indicate it was before the other wounds, they were well clotted and starting to knit together in some places. Not too much longer after she died but...she felt that. No traces of pain killers, not even some fucking Tylenol. Lab found Midazolam and Propofol, he made sure she didn’t move but she felt and knew what he was doing.”
His voice lowered to a growl, then he shook his head, pressing his lips together until they were a white line against his ruddy beard.
Tom looked at the opened chest. “You say there was an object embedded in her chest. I see it was removed.” Tom looked around at Dr. Laine and Donnelley, “did one of you secure this piece of evidence?”
Donnelley glanced at Laine before he reached down and grabbed up the duffel bag, placing it on the empty exam table. He paused, a heavy sigh escaping him and a very strong urge to step outside for a smoke. It’d have to wait. He unzipped the bag, rummaging around clothing items until the crinkling of a ziplock was heard. He pulled free a bag and tossed it onto the exam table with a trace of disgust. Within it, a sharp piece of some type of mineral black like a hole in the world stared out at them.
Donnelley’s appearance was not lost on Agent Stewart. He watched him handle the small shard in the ziploc bag and place it on the exam table. Tom picked the bag up to have a closer inspection of the shard. “How was this inserted?” was the thought he had, while verbalizing the question. He stared at the thing a bit longer and he started to feel bad. It was a feeling he felt many years ago. He began to see clouds swirling in it surface. He recalled the black stone in Northern Afghanistan those many years ago. As soon as he realized what he held, he dropped the item back onto the exam table. “Holy shit!” Tom paused, not ready to explain how he recognized the thing. “Where did that come from?!” Fear and anxiety were overwhelming him. He felt sad, turned to Donnelley, “Agent Davidson, could we go outside for a few minutes?”
“Way the fuck ahead of you, Devil Dog.” Donnelley turned on his heel and stuffed a cigarette between his lips. He stopped for a beat, looking at Bakker and Laine, then Bakker again.
“I’m sorry you had to do this.” His eyes lingered on Bakker’s own. He knew they didn’t have the best of starts but nobody deserved a look like that in their eyes. It was those same eyes Donnelley had when he got back to his FOB in Afghanistan years ago. He opened his mouth to say something else but looked to the side, shaking his head and continuing on his way after Tom.
Dr Bakker watched Donnelley take the shard out of the duffel bag and Laine could see his shoulders tense. She felt it herself, the anxiety and dread over something so small yet it reminded her of death and horror in Olympia Forest and now here in West Virginia.
Bakker stepped away from her but before he could answer Agent Stewart’s question the man reacted to the shard. He paused, his gaze moving back to the body of the dead woman that he had spent hours delving into, mentally and physically taking her apart into pieces to figure out what had happened. But she was not just a puzzle but a person and he had stayed awake too long last night thinking about worst case scenarios until he knocked himself out with a heavy dose of Nyquil bought from the small hotel lobby storefront.
He turned to look at Donnelley, then nodded, rubbing his scruff covered chin, “Part of me wishes I hadn’t answered Dr Laine’s call, but if there had to be someone to do this...”
Bakker sighed heavily, glancing at Laine who hung back, and looked back at Donnelley, “I know I did as best I could by her.”
Whether he spoke of Jane Doe or Heather Laine, it was unclear and he said no more. Bakker nodded to him and turned away, the cords on the back of his neck standing out with tension as he looked down at the body.
Laine waited until the men left then walked over to Dr Bakker to stand beside him. He was still silent and she waited, watching him from the corner of her eye brooding over the victim.
"I'm also sorry to put this on you, but I trust you," Laine said.
Bakker rubbed the bridge of his nose then glanced at her. He was still taller than she was in her high heels and he looked slightly down in her face. "Yeah, you said that. Look, this has been a weird damn two days. I missed the conference, by the way."
They both stayed silent then she added, "I guess I'll find someone else to copy off of."
Bakker cut a dark look at her, muttering, "Christ's sake."
"Sorry."
He sighed then shook his head, toying with the edge of the latex gloves. "Seems like much longer than...what's it been 24, 36 hours? Seems like a week since I came down to Whitetree. I was glad to leave it. That place is depressing."
"It's strange," Laine agreed vaguely, "The whole county. The people there..."
"Your new partner," Bakker said, "All of it seems off. But I did my part and I'm going home today. I already made an appointment with the counselor at Johns Hopkins."
Laine turned to him, "Because of this?"
"Somewhat, and I mean a counselor to see how many courses I would need to renew my surgical license. Not a shrink, no offense."
"I still think it would be a disservice to law enforcement but it's your life," Laine said.
"It would make Lily happy, too. That matters to me," Bakker said, glancing aside at her and he held out the folder with the autopsy report.
Laine nodded stiffly as she took it, tucking it under her arm, then turned away. She dug into her purse for her clove cigarettes. "I think I'll grab a smoke, too."
>BLACKRIVER COUNTY, WEST VIRGINIA
>0630...///
The one good thing about being drunk before sleeping, or being so drunk he was forced to sleep, was the dreams seemed fiction then. Like watching a television rather than his own feet filling the boots or his own hands holding the knife or cradling Guzman’s head. He’d tried going to sleep sober once. It was not something he’d do if he had a choice at all.
boom… and then echoes. He stirred awake quicker than usual, reached for his M4 and as he scrambled for it, he realized it wasn’t there. He looked around himself. He wasn’t in Afghanistan, but there were mountains. West Virginia. He drew in a breath and blew it out his mouth, looking through the bedroom window to see the plume of dust a blasting charge at the mines had thrown up. The Safehouse. He sat up, swinging his legs over the side of the bunk and cradled his face in his hands, fingers tracing the edges of the burn scar as his head throbbed. He stayed like that for he didn’t know how long before he shook himself back to the present, standing and stretching. The familiar pops from his joints after a life of hitting the ground hard and ascending steep climbs with a ruck that weighed the equivalent of another man.
He sniffed at the air. Coffee? Was Laine up before him? He wasn’t surprised, he went to sleep later than she did and drunker than she did as well. He slipped a ratty black t-shirt over himself, the Choking Victim logo long faded to a hint that one would have to squint at to tell. He traded his slacks for sweats and slipped his .40 cal into the right pocket, tying a tight knot in the drawstrings to compensate for the weight that threatened to pull it down to his ankles. He eyed a half-empty water bottle on its side at the foot of his bed. He grasped it up and sucked down the rest of it in hopes of wetting his dry mouth, smacking his lips appreciatively as he threw it back into the covers of his bed. The finishing touch being a cigarette tucked behind his ear.
He put his hand on the knob, but froze. There wasn’t any conversation outside yet there was a stirring, a creaking of the floorboards and the sound of someone humming and quietly singing something. It was just Laine and him then. If he hadn’t been such an ass last night perhaps he could’ve strolled into the kitchen and waved at her, making himself a cup of coffee and ask how she slept, but…
Fuck it, that’s what he was going to do. He turned the knob and pulled the door open, closing it behind him and then standing in place. Laine was indeed already up and about, but she had not taken notice of his presence. She stood at the counter, sink on one side of her and cooking range on the other, bowl of soon-to-be scrambled eggs in one hand and her other beating it to rhythmic hell with a fork. He didn’t realize he was staring until he had to roll his eyes away from appreciating how the goddamn light from the window fell over her. She put it down and went for something else, prompting him to flinch back into a conspicuous walk to the island table in the kitchen. On which was a clean mug next to her filled one, coffee still steaming in hers. He grasped the cup by the handle, stepping quietly as he carefully placed it under the Black Budget Keurig’s spigot, replacing Laine’s used cartridge with a fresh French Roast one and letting the machine go to work with a press of a button. He turned around, leaning on the counter and watched Laine work at the morning’s breakfast, the dark-haired woman still utterly oblivious to his relaxed, folded arm presence in the corner of the kitchen behind her. He watched her mouth the words to some song, humming along at other parts. He finally picked it out. He smirked. Suicidal Tendencies. Another flash of normalcy. Another chiding shake of his head and sigh. She’s a colleague, his inner voice spoke, You fucking child.
“Look.” He said finally, the words trudging out of him like a funeral procession, “I didn’t mean anything by last night. I know it isn’t any business of mine and it really shouldn’t matter to me who calls you what.”
His eyes were on the floor and he could feel himself curling over like a guilty pet. She just kept on doing what she’d been and Donnelley instantly recognized the age-old unsaid ‘fuck off’ of the cold shoulder. Holly was a fan of it. There was an ache in his chest at that, a feeling that he was ankle-deep in shit. “Laine, I know I acted very unprofessional last night. I’m just trying to apologize for my behavior and I’m sorry if I offended you.”
Still no answer. And the shit rose to his knees. He sighed, closing his eyes and hanging his head, “I get it.” He breathed, nodding slow, “For the sake of the case we can just start over. No bullshit about someone who’s known you way damn longer than I have calling you by whatever name. Okay?”
No answer, and this time she actually turned away from him, giving him her back. He just wanted to take his coffee and hole up in his room like an angst-ridden younger Donnelley might have. He let out a harsh sigh and began to leave for his room, brushing a defeated hand through his hair, “Fuck, Donnelley...”
Laine flipped the bacon and went back to mixing the eggs, beating a good half dozen with a touch of milk, whisking them to the rhythm of one of her favorite Suicidal songs. She was dressed like she had just rolled out of bed, which she had, still in the faded back t shirt with the modesty of putting on some yoga pants. Her bare feet padded over the polished wood, neat pedicured toenails painted glossy black and dark hair swept back, a small clip holding the short locks out of her face as she cooked.
She went about the business of breakfast, stirring eggs and watching the browning potatoes, completely oblivious as the music blasted into her ears. Her favorite part of the song was coming up and she called out in not quite a full shout, “But here’s my apology, FUCK YOU!”
Donnelley’s shoulders flinched up and he turned slowly, mouth slightly agape. He looked at her and knew every little joke they shared was tossed aside, “Laine, I…”
When she spun around on the balls of her feet she finally noticed Donnelley staring at her and realization hit as she popped the ear buds out, “Oh hey, sorry about that, dude! I didn’t see you. Good morning, how’s your head?”
Donnelley’s brow furrowed even more and he tried to hide his face behind the mug, taking a long sip. When it came away from his face, he forced a smile. It was all just a misunderstanding, he told himself. The ache in his chest needn’t be worried over, it’s all fine now. But it wasn’t, and he resigned himself to sitting at the island table. “You know. Night of drinking. About as good as I could hope after that.” He replied, his smile coming back with a bit more sincerity, “D’you sleep good?”
She smiled a bit, her makeup gone except the raccoon eye remnants of her eyeliner as she had not hit the shower yet. “Yeah, I slept soundly, a little vodka and horrific murder just puts me out. I hope you’re hungry, I’m making enough for a small army.”
Laine glanced over at him, watching him drink his coffee before she poured the eggs into a buttered pan. “How about you? Feeling alright?”
“Yeah,” He was still smiling at her earlier quip as he looked into his mug before taking another sip. Gallows humor and survival and all that. He looked at her, shrugging, “Just a… an awkward start to my morning s’all.”
He leaned over and glanced at the food, feeling his stomach churn with hunger. He smiled as he put his ass back in his chair, “You looking to feed Whitetree with all that ‘cause you just might.”
“My dad always made us a huge Sunday breakfast, just in case we had visitors. His family was one of those that would make the rounds after church,” she said, looking wistfully out the window at the pine trees beyond the drive that only held the Chrysler and her rental Hyundai. She then shrugged, giving him a small grin. “Plus it helps with hangovers, grease and fat and caffeine.”
Laine set a plate in front of him, fluffy eggs and crisp bacon and hashbrowns. She had her own food and most important her cup of dark coffee. She stepped aside to turn off the burners, covering the eggs with a plate. “Awkward?”
She sat down, her face flushed pink and she sighed a soft self deprecating laugh, “Oh yeah, awkward. I’m really sorry about yelling ‘fuck you’ at you. It’s the song, I’m sure you know it. ‘You Won’t Bring Me Down’. One of my wake up tunes.”
She sipped her coffee and dug in, not shy about eating heartily. Laine kept a side eye on Donnelley, he seemed bothered by more than just her accidental cussing out, it certainly wasn’t the first time he had heard that phrase. “Unlike what it seems, I am not a morning person, it’s something I have to force myself into. I can’t do anything until I have coffee. Once that hits and I have a shower, I’ll be ready to be Doctor Laine.”
“Well, then, Miss Laine,” He smirked, forking some eggs into his mouth and finishing chewing, “You sure still know how to remedy a hangover.”
His mind returned to last night. No matter the fact the subject felt so far away from her it still stuck close to him, seeming to breathe down his neck every moment it got. He wondered if he should apologize anyway, now that he had her attention. Then he wondered if it would be more tactful to just shut up about it. “Laine,” Damnit, “I’m sorry about last night.”
Laine bit into a piece of bacon, done to crisp perfection and nodded at his observation of her hangover cure. Menudo was more traditional in the heavily Mexican influenced LA but this she knew how to make. As she ate, she could sense his tension, in the way he held himself and the furrows in his brow. Laine waited for Donnelley, this was a man who could not be pushed.
When he spoke, she turned to look at him. Her dark ringed eyes still calm and observant as he apologized. Setting her fork down, she turned her body slightly as she gave him her attention.
“Why are you sorry?” she said, “It’s not the drinking, I remember the flask. Last night was a nice distraction after the autopsy and you were kind enough to keep me company shopping.”
He sighed a chuckle, smiling softly at her, “Anytime.” He nodded. He wondered if he should just leave it at that, pretend that was exactly what he was talking about and they could both go on with their lives. But Donnelley never did things, never let things go easy, “It’s not the drinking though. It’s…”
“You were right.” He looked away from her, his hand dropping and leaving his fork on his plate, finding it too hard to look her in the eye with this, “What’s it matter. I shouldn’t have brought up Bakker calling you by your first name, he’s known you way longer than I have. I’m just some guy you met a couple months ago.”
Laine bit the inside of her lip, her brows drawing together slightly as he confessed why he was sorry. “Oh, yes, that. You’re right, it wasn’t your business,” she said, then softened her smoke husky voice, “I accept your apology. It’s not something I wanted to get into and it’s nothing that matters now. You’re not just some guy, by the way.”
She finished her coffee, then set her mug down, “I like you, Donnelley. You’re pretty cool. You know, for a black booted CIA spook.”
Laine winked at him slyly then stood and scraped her plate, setting it in the sink.
Donnelley laid a hand over his heart and bit his lip, “Oh, that kinda hurts.” He chuckled, “Go ahead and get about your morning, I’ll take care of the dishes.”
He forked up the last of his eggs and crunched down the bit of bacon he had left before he stood. He swallowed it down just as he set his plate in the sink, pulling the cigarette from behind his ear and placing it between his lips, “Thank you. Food was good.” He smiled at her as he walked to the front door and then looked outside the peephole at the sound of crunching gravel beneath tire treads. Then he saw her. “Who the fuck?”
He wasted no time in reaching into his pocket and thumbing the safety off on his handgun. He didn’t have to check the chamber. He always had one in there. He let her knock as he took in her face. Young. Pretty. She didn’t look like someone from town sent to kill him and everyone threatening to break down their sliver of backwoods.
He opened the door, as she knocked and called out at anybody inside. He sucked his teeth, summoning his best authoritative voice well-honed from his time as a Deputy and years in the military, the Texan in his voice apparent. “Think you’ve got the wrong house, ma’am.”
“Nope, Foster sent me - motherfucker.” The voice came back with it’s own Texan twang to it, unheard of in such parts of old Western Virginia. She sounded a bit annoyed, but not Texan pissed, such a fabled mood was seldom except for those who could not control their inner rage.
Donnelley narrowed his eyes at the last bit, the frown on his face twitching a hair deeper, “What?” He leaned in closer, “Don’t think I heard you right.”
Then he heard his phone ring from the other room. It was either Foster calling him to let him know there was a very last minute decision or to notify him that they were all compromised and a small, petite blonde Texan was coming to ventilate his skull. He nodded inside, “Get in here.”
"Took y'all long enough." Hauling her big ol' bag of luggage in with her before sliding it off to the side. "Senior Airman Weissman, pleasure to be of service to ya old man" she said sticking her hand for a lil hand shaky with the head honcho. She was definitely a saucy one.
At the disturbance at the door, Laine popped her head around to see what was going on. The exchange was brief but telling and she ducked back into the kitchen. Serving a plate and setting out another cup, she grabbed her phone and strolled out. “Welcome, I’m Dr Laine, there’s some breakfast waiting if you haven’t eaten. And coffee, plenty of coffee. Looks like you and Mr Donnelley probably have some things to work out so I’m going to grab a shower.”
As she passed Donnelley, she whispered to him, “Don’t kill her.”
Laine vanished into the bathroom after a stop into the women’s bunkroom for her shower bag and towel.
Donnelley regarded the hand and then looked to Weissman for a few good, tense seconds. He took the offered hand. “Joseph Donnelley, OGA.” He put his hands on his hips and nodded at the plate Laine had made, “Eat or not. I’m going outside for a smoke, you can join me if you want. I want to know why you’re here past Foster sending me young cubs to babysit.”
Old Guy Association (OGA), Gwen never thought they existed. Regardless, Gwen was happy enough to go and take the plate. Free food is free food, the Doc chick was pretty nice she thought as she scarfed down the food. After kicking back some killer coffee she went to meet the man who wanted the answers.
"Yea, I'm here to hack shit and do a lot of electronic wizardry." She said proudly. Now taking out her Cophagen Wintergreen giving it a few spanks before packing a mini-hog.
“Oh, good,” Donnelley smirked and dryly added, “If one of us forgets our passwords you can get it back. Appreciate it.”
Tom had woken up at zero five thirty. It was a habit he couldn’t break. It didn’t matter what time he went to bed, he always seemed to wake at zero dark thirty. The sun was just on the horizon; beginning morning nautical twilight or BMNT was here. The day would get gradually brighter as it went on.
Tom stood, moved to the closet, kicking the chute in deeper. Opening his duffel, he pulled out a pair of OD green running shorts and the white T-shirt. He pulled on his running shoes and headed downstairs. He could hear snoring coming from a room in the hall. He ran out the back door and hit the dirt road. He preferred to explore his surroundings on his own when he had time. At 5:45 in the morning, he had time.
The road went on for just under a mile and a half when he hit a paved road appearing to need serious repairs or at least just patching. The local highway department would get to it eventually, if it was in the budget.
‘Colonel Miller is pretty understanding letting me take off like this. I know it was work related, but technically even the FBI needs to let their employees take off time for Reserve training. But I’m not complaining. I want to be here.’ Tom ran along the paved road lost in his thoughts. He remembered Jill and their unborn child. He thought of names like Robert after his father or possibly Tom Jr. with a nickname of TJ. Maybe something totally different. His grandfather was Joseph and he had an uncle Randy, er Randall. Maybe not a boy. What about girls names? Let Jill choose? No. How about Michelle, Cheryl, Margot or Clarice? He then sang running cadences in his head.
After a half hour of running, he figured he was out about three or three and a half miles, turned and began heading back to the safehouse. His thoughts turned to the team. He thought about Mr. Donnelly. He didn’t know the man well enough but appeared to be competent in his work. It didn’t matter what he was like as long as he did his job. At least he brought beers to drink when it was all over. Couldn’t fault a man for his generosity. Heather Laine had called him when he was at home. He was able to follow up some leads that might help her. He would need to share that with her later. Lieutenant Gomez and Mr. Mathius seemed quite capable too. Gomez was a bit high strung at times. He looked forward to seeing Mr. Clark and Jason Jimenez. They were both good guys. He liked working with other military types even if he was an army doggy. They at least knew what they were doing.
Tom hit the dirt road and continued toward the safehouse. A nondescript car approached him from the direction of the house. Tom’s law enforcement and military training couldn’t be impeded. He eyeballed the unimpressed blonde haired gentleman driving the vehicle. He appeared to be close in age to himself and in decent shape. Probably worked out in a gym. He also looked like he could have been part Asian.
He slowed to a walk at about a hundred yards from the building and walked for his cool down. As he approached the house, he spied Mr. Donnelly on the front porch with a young blonde haired woman. She was cute and almost as tall as he and Donnelly; well maybe a few inches shorter, but still tall for a woman. “Hello Mr. Donnelly,” Tom announced walking to the porch, wearing a sweaty white T-shirt and green shorts. He obviously wasn’t carrying any bags. But his hair was cut to the typical US Marine Corps High and Tight length.
“Tom!” Donnelley waved and smiled as the footsteps on the gravel driveway and parking lot of the Safehouse revealed themselves to be none other than Special Agent Stewart, “My favorite Marine. Went on a run?”
He looked around the mostly vacant gravel lot and spotted only his car, the Chrysler. He looked at Tom with some lighthearted confusion and jokingly asked, “You didn’t just run all the way here, did you?”
Tom laughed at that comment. “No sir, I arrived last night,” Tom responded. “I believe it was a little after 2330.” Tom didn’t want to admit exactly how he arrived right away.
“Did you…” Donnelley’s face screwed up with some genuine curiosity, his smirk playing at the edges of his lips, “Missus drop you off, or?”
“Dropped off?” Tom laughed at that. “In a manner of speaking, I was dropped off, but not by the missus. It was courtesy of the US Marine Corps. In fact, it was a V-22 from about two thousand feet up. I parachuted in, boss.”
Donnelley smirked. At Tom’s continued expectant silence the smirk became a chuckle. Then a laugh as he fully realized Tom was being dead serious. “Goddamn, cowboy, I like the way you do things.” Donnelley sniffled and nodded, “Wish I’d been there to witness the justification of budget.”
Tom gave a wink and a smile at the mention of the budget. “Thanks boss,” Tom spoke in his typical Boston accent. “Oh yea, do you know how to rig a chute? We learned in Airborne school and yea, that was about twelve years ago. I should pack it before I go back.” Tom asked Mr. Donnelly. Then smelled the kitchen. “Is that bacon and eggs I smell? Coffee too?”
“Courtesy of our good Doctor Laine, yes it is.” Donnelley jerked his thumb over his shoulder, “Go on, get your chow. We’ve got a morning ahead of us.”
Tom started to enter the house, then asked the obvious question, “Who’s the new girl? Does she work for the farm? Or one of us now?”
“Go on, then,” Donnelley rose his brows at Gwen, “Introduce yourself to the nice man.”
Gwen went to go spit some dip outside before responding. "Weissman, hackergirl." A familiar Texan twang was attached to her voice.
Tom extended his right hand. He spoke in a Boston accent, “Stewart, Tom. I work for the Bureau, among other things. Very nice to meet you. I’m going to head inside. I’ll talk to you later.” Tom entered the house in search of breakfast.
"Cool." Gwen simply remarked making a mental note to creep his social media if he had any. She turned back to Donny. "So yea Foster hired me, you got a PC for lil ol' me?"
“Whatever you brought is what you got.” Donnelley said, smirking at his own unintended writing as he rolled out the cherry on his cigarette before flicking the filter away someplace, “Let’s head inside.”
As Donnelley opened the door and presumed that Gwen would follow, he took his seat at the island counter in the center of the kitchen, “Texas?” He asked, he knew she would know what he was asking.
"Del Rio and you ?" She said strolling in taking out her spitter to spit some dip into it.
“Spit of dirt little south of Dalhart.” Donnelley shrugged, “It’s a shithole but it was my shithole for a bit. Take ten steps and you’ll stub your toes on a meth house.”
He spat the last couple words with some venom, before turning his attention to Stewart, “Tom, I assume you have a storied history in Boston. Care to regale us?”
Tom put a breakfast together, consisting of eggs, bacon and black coffee. He sat down with the others and began eating the meal. “Storied? Well, I don’t know how interesting it is. You don’t want to hear about murder investigations. Especially not at breakfast.” He really didn’t want to talk about those. “How should I dress for the day, boss? I brought a suit just in case you needed me to play the FBI role,” Tom mentioned to avoid any uncomfortable conversations.
"Hmpf, cool." She said strutting into the cabin. She sat down at the table with the rest of them, looking them over. Maybe she was going to ventilate their skulls.
“Anything business. Look official, you know the drill.” He answered Tom as he grabbed a piece of bacon from the paper towel lined plate the stack of them rested on, “Play the FBI role. I am.”
He winked at Tom, “Special Agent John Davidson is my name when we get anywhere outside the Safehouse.” He smirked, talking around a mouthful of bacon, “I’ll give y’all a full briefing when we get to the town Doc. But, you know, don’t want to talk about any of that at breakfast.”
“No problem, Agent Davidson,” Tom smirked as he ate his egg. “I may just call you agent Davidson and John just to get used to the sound so I don’t slip up later.”
Donnelley nodded, offering his hand out to Tom as if they were colleagues meeting for the first time, “Please, just John.”
“OK, John,” Tom shook his hand after placing his fork down. He scooped up the mug and took a sip of the coffee before returning to the fork. “Where’s Heather? Oh, my mistake, Doctor Laine?”
Dr Laine was just getting out of the shower, wrapped in the oversized towel that was fluffy and indulgent, certainly no military regulation towel supplied in the cabin. She had bought it at the mall, a luxury she could not resist. She peeked out the door, then stepped out to make a hasty retreat back to the woman's bedroom, tip toeing along the wooden floor.
Once she was in the room, she towel dried her hair and began her getting ready for the day ritual. Loud music in the empty room, hairdryer blaring and her offkey singing, a person who definitely used to living alone. Laine put on light makeup for the small town, people like this thought a woman to be whorish in anything other than casual nude tones. She dressed in black slacks and a long sleeved black turtleneck, making sure all her tattoos were covered. Unable to surrender all her style to backwater standards she wore her silver skull earrings and four inch black heels. Hopefully no stumbling in the woods but just in case, Laine grabbed her Converse sneakers and shoved them in her leather purse.
Once she was ready, she strolled out of the room and saw the gathering around the table, enjoying the breakfast. “Hey, Tom, just get in?”
“Hey Heather, how’s it going?” Tom asked with a smile on his face. “Thanks for breakfast.”
“My pleasure, I love cooking for people,” she said, taking another Keurig cup out of the cupboard to place in the coffee maker. “Especially when I don’t have to clean up.”
Laine flashed a brief smile towards Donnelley, then put the egg pan into the sink. “Eggs are the worst.”
“Mhm.” Donnelley grunted, wordlessly getting to work on the dishes. Which consisted of turning on the sink to fill up the pots and bowls, giving Laine a smirk, “Just gonna let them soak a bit.”
“Oh yea, before I forget. That John Doe that washed ashore in Cohasset was connected to the Russian Mafia. His name was Anatoly Mikhailov. He was 32 years old and born in Voronezh, Russia. He spent time in the Russian Spetsnaz before immigrating to the US. He had a residence in Brighton Beach. Haven’t figured out how he ended up in Massachusetts yet.” Tom wanted to pass that along to Heather before too long. “I can include it in an email when I get back to Boston if you like. Just so you know, my marine reserve unit is training only about 20 miles south of here near Charleston. If you were in the area, you may have seen military vehicles moving about in town or V-22 Ospreys flying over head. We’ve been borrowing West Virginia National Guard vehicles.”
“I knew it, those damn Adidas tracksuits,” Laine commented on the identification of the washed up body. She wanted to ask about the Jane Doe but her concern was more about their Jane Doe in town. Not enough to bring it up as people still ate, it was a stomach turning conversation topic.
She turned, waiting for her coffee to finish and leaned against the counter. In her stilettos she was as tall as Donnelley and almost as tall as Tom, there was an unspoken communication of power when it came to height so damn the aching arches. “I was in town but I hadn’t noticed, I was shopping.”
Laine laughed a little at herself, then turned to fetch her mug now that the machine was done. “Did you get dropped off with Weissman then?”
Donnelley’s only comment was a soft snort at how Tom said he’d gotten to the Safehouse.
“Weissman?” Tom thought, must be talking about the newbie. “Ah, Gwen. No, I did not. I jumped in last night around 2330.”
Laine was blowing on her coffee then her pursed lips paused and she raised her brows, looking over her glasses at Tom, “Jumped?”
“Yea, you know those V-22’s I mentioned?” Tom paused to sip his coffee. “They are from Chambers Field in Virginia. They are here to support out annual training at Kanawha State Forest. I requisitioned a parachute from their squadron and parachuted into the parking lot out front around 2330 last night.”
She stared at him for a moment then laughed, shaking her head with an indulgent smile and said one word, “Marines.”
“Right?” The Army boy in Donnelley smirked.
Tom had finished his breakfast and still smelled from his run that morning. “If you will excuse me, I need to go shower and get ready for the day.” Tom stood up and placed his dishes near the sink. He left the room and headed upstairs.
Laine turned her gaze to Weissman, studying the younger woman for a quiet moment as she sipped her coffee. “How about you, Airforce right? I think I’m the only one not ex military. I’m sorry I missed the introduction, I’m with the Bureau, the actual FBI not like Davidson here. Behavioral Analysis Unit.”
"I'm still active duty, yea I'm with the air force 67th Cyberspace Operations Group, out of Lackland AFB. What's with all the cops I thought this was like a hacking op." She said just chilling at the table, looking around maybe processing everyone here was some kind of spook or some kind of expert.
“There’s a murder we’re looking into, you are here to help I take it,” Laine replied.
Laurie opened the door, chewing on some wild garlic with a few stalks left in his hands. “Shup.” He said through the chewing, tapping his forelock with index and middle finger before taking off his hat. “Who’re you?” the Ranger queried, looking at the newcomer as he went to lean on a chair.
“Another surprise,” Laine observed Laurie sauntering into the cabin, then nodded at the covered plate of food. “There’s still some breakfast, if that uh...grass isn’t filling. Bacon, scrambled eggs, and hashbrowns, help yourself.”
“You know, between you and Laurie, I think I’m going to feel like a dad again.” Donnelley shook his head as he watched Laurie chomping on a weed he’d found outside. “Just don’t make me get the kid leashes.”
He shook his head at Laurie with an amused grin and turned back to Gwen, “It is a hacking op. For you. And if we need a drone piloted it’s all you, Airman.” Donnelley popped the last morsel of bacon in his mouth and dusted off his hands, talking around his mouthful, “Sadly, we don’t have an air conditioned pilot station and a hangar for your Predator drone out back so I hope the Air Force taught you how to ruck too.”
"Fuck." She said spitting some more dip into her spitter. "Knew I should of said no." In reality she was glad to be out of Texas, but sad it was no hotel gig. 0 stars for this cabin and cabal.
“You can ruck can’t you?” He looked at Laurie and then realized he didn’t remember the guy getting to the Safehouse. “When did you get here? Where do y’all keep coming from?”
Laine caught the reference about Donnelley being a Dad, it should not be surprising since he had been married but it was all the same. She tried to imagine him as such and then ducked her face, trying not to smile. Kid leashes. Maybe she should have bought juice boxes.
“I’m glad I’m only having to carry my shoulder holster and a notebook,” Laine said, raising her cup of coffee in a gleeful reference to the heavy backpacks.
Laurie giggled at the Doctor’s words, nodding gratefully as he went over to make himself and impromptu sandwich wedging eggs and bacon between hashbrowns and placing a bit of his wild garlic in there too. He wasn’t really hungry, but he’d eat a fucking pride of lions and an endangered whale if it was free. “Myeah, I ruck.” He said to Donnelly, initially with hesitation and then resignation realizing he’d be made carry a quite literal shit ton of stuff either way. “Got here real early in the morning, if you didn’t see the ‘cycle. Just had a gander through the woods and all, didn’t feel like a sleep. Don’t worry I’ll double fist some monsters or whatever the fucking zoomers drink to stay awake.” Taking a great big bite. “Y’all mind if I finish these babies?” he queried, looking at the remnants of the breakfast that he hadn’t yet devoured.
"So, hick - you dip?" She said asking Laurie.
Laurie kept chewing after the question came, masticating a few times more before swallowing. “Sure.” he said, leaning over meaningfully under the assumption she was offering.
Gwen sauced her saucy tin of Copenhagen Wintergreen over to the man on the table with one hand. She then went to spit some out into her spitter.
“Unless we have others showing up, go ahead,” Laine said, there was not much left of the eggs anyway. “Help yourself.”
Laurie took a bit of the dip and put it on his plate, before saying something indeterminate in gratitude to Laine as he pounded down all that was left of the breakfast like an industrial machine, sliding the tin right back. The lady hadn’t answered him on who she was, but anyone that gave free dip was good enough in his book. Finishing up he licked his fingers and then went to wash them before drying them off. “I’ve got most of my shit ready on my bike, I’m ready when y’all are.”
She eyed the young woman’s dip can and tried not to make a face, she smoked after all. But a lady didn’t spit. Laine bit back a grin then stepped out of the kitchen to get her gear ready for the day. In her room she put on said shoulder holster, checking the standard FBI issue Glock 9mm to make sure it was loaded and then secured it under her arm. It snugged up against her breast and after a few adjustments finally felt as comfortable as it would get. Laine did not often have to wear it unless she was active in the field and as she was BAU it was not a regular basis.
Inside her purse were her sneakers and wallet, a packet of latex gloves and a few Ziploc bags and her cigarettes, lighter and small makeup bag. A switchblade and a can of mace, her phone charger and camera along with a small notebook with her thoughts on the case and names and numbers to remember was shoved in with a few pens. The purse was black leather, designer but sleek and modest with a shoulder strap. In all honesty she would have carried a backpack and dressed in jeans but as an FBI psychologist she learned to project a certain aura. Power, authority, intelligence and intimidation all in one package. Laine slid her black frame glasses back onto her face and touched up her modest lipstick.
Smoothing the trim dark blazer over the shoulder holster, Laine walked back out, ready to roll.
After the shower, Tom dressed in a pair of navy blue dockers slacks with the FBI shield in its belt holder at his waist and the Gerber leatherman also on the belt in the rear. He put on a white cotton button down shirt and a red necktie with navy blue diagonal stripes. He then put on the tactical boots with the Gerber Mark 2 survival knife tucked into the boot and under his pant leg. The last article of clothing would be the herringbone gray jacket, which he would put on later when he needed to. Inside his duffel, he had a small bag to put a kit together to take with him. It contained: two sets of Peerless handcuffs, several flex cuffs, a first aid kit, rubber gloves, assorted chem lites and a notepad. The Sig .40 cal was placed in the shoulder holster under his left arm. The M4 was too large for the bag, but he would put it in the trunk of the car and use it if needed. Inside the bag would go the eight magazines filled with .223 caliber ammunition along with the throat mic communications equipment if needed. His FBI identification was placed inside the top left breast inside pocket of his jacket along with three Cuban cigars and a zippo lighter.
Tom hefted the small bag, his jacket and the carbine to carry downstairs. Everyone else was busying themselves with getting their equipment together for the day’s mission. He knew they were investigating a murder; expecting there would be complications since it fell to UMBRA, as an experienced investigator he was naturally curious what it was all about.
>ROAD TO FBI CJIS FACILITY...///
Donnelley had elected Tom drive the Chrysler to the CJIS compound based solely on the fact that the majority of them didn’t have FBI IDs, real or fabricated. Tom and Laine took the two front seats, which left Donnelley squeezed into the back with Gwen and Laurie. It had been a quiet drive filled only with sparse small talk up until they got close to the facility. Donnelley has not been in the mood for banter after he stuffed the bag which held the shard into the trunk of the Chrysler. That thing was not meant to be seen, and he had the urge to bury it somewhere nobody could find it again.
Laine had notified Bakker to meet them there where he had moved the body of their Jane Doe and Donnelley figured there were a few things the team needed to know before they stepped foot inside the facility. “Alright, first things first,” He opened from the back seat, “Nobody better fucking even utter the name Joseph Donnelley in there. I’m Special Agent John Davidson to these people.”
“When we get there, everyone but Tom and Laine shuts up. If anybody asks who you two are,” he turned his head to Gwen and Laurie, “You’re studying under Doctor Laine. No more than that. Anybody presses, Tom and I can tell them to kindly fuck off.”
With that, the CJIS facility’s front gates were in sight. Just as planned and without incident, Tom and Laine flashed their identification and they were waved through. They made their deeper into the campus and following Laine, they were able to make it to the freezer rooms. Small drawers that may or may not have contained bodies. Bakker had not yet arrived, which left the team standing around to do nothing in the cold room, which was a welcome reprieve from the summer heat.
Gwen kinda just muddled around following Laine, not really understanding the purpose of some dead dude. She kept her laptop handy and her handy stuff handier on her, she just took in the shitty sights of the CJIS facility and kept quiet. Which in all, was really really hard to do. She just wanted to scream, or yawn but she stopped herself because one of these guys may snap her neck. Also, she got free breakfast earlier.
Tom parked the Chrysler and walked with Dr. Laine to the morgue. “I always hated coming to these places,” Tom admitted quietly. “Dead bodies just give me the creeps. But what creeps me more is when they aren’t really dead.” The temperature today was only in the upper 70s, maybe 80. Tom opted to leave the suit jacket on.
As Tom and Laine stepped out of the car, Laurie leaned out to say he wasn't coming. "Yeah uhh, tell the boss I ain't coming. I'll stay here, hold the fort and be in reserve in case them jap-porn monsters start appearing. Then I can heroically save your asses, otherwise I'll just sit here do a bit of reading and you can give me the spark notes after when I need it for… You know, my real job." With that, he shut the door, pulled out his Bible and started to do precisely what he promised.
“What the heck are we lookin for?” Gwen asked no one specifically but in a quiet tone as to not to earn the wrath from the team or security.
“Doctor Bakker.” Donnelley frowned, leaning on an exam table with his arms crossed. He rolled his shoulders in the blue long-sleeved button up he wore. Goddamn, he hated dressing up. “Y’all seen dead bodies before right?”
“More than I ever wanted to,” Tom responded.
“Yeah, this one time we had a AC-130. I wasn’t piloting cus it wasn’t no drone, but I saw the live footage and damn those things can zoom in like a microscope. This taliban van, well it got talibammed by a 40mm cannon. Insane, really crazy. Why didn’t we just facetime or skype this Doc is he like one of those old men who meet in person only?” Gwen said, not really impressed by the whole covert op to find some old doctor. Sometimes technology just helped you find people, old or not.
“Yeah, why don’t we FaceTime this Doc?” Donnelley asked, a small smirk as he added, “Then again, he is so very important and much needed.”
“If I had a PHD I would facetime people, on appointment of course.” Gwen added to Donnely’s remark.
Laine turned her head, huffing a soft laugh at the comments. “He just texted me, he’s in the parking lot. Facetime is fine but face to face is preferable, I guess I’m old fashioned.”
On cue, Dr Alex Bakker rounded the corner and entered the room, pausing at the size of the crowd. His reddish blonde hair was tastefully messy, purposefully combed that way and he wore casual dark brown slacks and a blazer over a t-shirt. “Circus in town?” he asked, his gaze moving from Laine to Donnelley briefly then he scanned their faces. “Alright, let’s get on with this, I had to self medicate to sleep last night. I hope you catch whoever did this.”
“First time, Precious?” Donnelley muttered ever so softly at his comment of self medicating. Weed? Or alcohol? Now that was the question on sliding scale of tragedy.
He held out a folder with the FBI stamp on it. “Your official unofficial Jane Doe autopsy report.”
“What does the report state as cause of death?” Tom Stewart asked.
“Oh, you’ll want to hear this.” Donnelley smirked at Tom, leaving it at that. The humor was of course a defense mechanism, tried and true for Donnelley. In truth, the body’s internal state and missing organs gave him a creeping anxiety.
Dr Bakker nodded then opened the report, his free hand going to the pocket of his blazer to hide the fidgeting fingers. “First, I’m Dr Bakker, FBI forensic examiner at Quantico. I’m sure Dr Laine told you. Nice to see you again, Agent Davidson. Now, the rest of you I don’t know and if you wish give me your names I probably won’t remember them no offense. I’m going straight home after this and I hope to never see you again.”
His eyes darted to Laine, then muttered, “I’ll see you at work when I pack my things.”
‘Tom intended to tell Dr. Bakker his name. It was the polite thing to do, but after that introduction, maybe it was best just to remain silent about the introductions.’ “Ok, maybe you could just tell us what you found?”
“Right,” he said, “Jane Doe, estimated age 16-23 years, found in wooded location just off a trail. She was disposed of there, the body had been moved from wherever the original crime scene was. Cause of death...”
He squinted his eyes and said, “Massive internal hemorrhaging caused by a foreign object. I believe it to have been inserted somehow, most likely vaginal as extensive abrasions and lacerations were found through her cervix and uterus which was punctured by the...hell I don’t know what it was. It looks like a shard of obsidian or stone. Black...very black.”
Bakker paused, a faraway look in his dark blue eyes as he fumbled his hand in his pocket. Blinking hard he continued, “It tore through her, her reproductive organs, it lacerated her liver, right lung and embedded itself in her aorta.”
He breathed out, then said, “She was also mutilated. Her tongue was cut out, her vocal chords...and most obvious, she was skinned from head to toe. Every bit of dermal layer removed.”
His hand gripped into a fist in his jacket pocket and he cleared his throat, “This was not done posthumously.”
Gwen was uninterested in the whole attitude the Doc had Tom had gone as far as just plain up ask him what’s the dice for this whole thing and made the guy a bit scared. She went up to Bakker and put a consolidating hand on his shoulder.
"Don’t worry Doc we'll find this damned serial killer. Don’t mind my partner, Agent Muldoon." She said gesturing to Tom. "We're just trying to get the pieces we need to find this sunbitch." She said smiling.
Bakker glanced at the blonde, then at her hand and managed a nod of acknowledgement.
Though Donnelley had been smirking at the beginning, he now stood with his eyes closed and thumb resting on his lip. His head seemed to hang lower and lower as Bakker gave the team the rundown of what he’d found out. Finally, he thrust his thumb over his shoulder at the freezer drawers, voice solemn, “Where is she?”
“As distasteful as it may seem, I would like to view the corpse.”Tom mentioned to reinforce what Donnelley was implying. Tom turned to Gwen, “Could you take him out into the hall? He appears to not have the stomach for this sort of thing.” He was referring to Laurie Mathieu.
Laine listened, her face a mask of calm but inside her stomach knotted, the details now clearly telling a tale of torture and brutal murder. She had hoped at least the skinning had been done after death but the young woman was not even allowed that mercy. Her eyes scanned over the team, watching their reactions. Her gaze lingered on Donnelley then returned to Bakker. His stress etched on the fine lines around his eyes and dark circles. She doubted he had slept much and he was normally out like a light no matter what. She stayed silent, not feeling the need to push into the situation, just to observe.
"Of course, Agent Muldoon." She says walking out gesturing to the ol' Ranger to follow her out.
Tom held a stoic, semi-placid appearance. He had seen many corpses over the past five or more years during his time with the bureau.
Bakker folded the flap of the report folder over and put it under his arm, “I’ll get her out for you.”
He moved to the middle row, last drawer on the small freezer wall. Unlatching it, he drew out the stainless steel table, rolling out in a smooth motion and on it lay a petite figure that looked more like a muscle anatomy illustration than a former living human being. Her chest was still split open, closed only with medical staples that could be easily removed to examine the internal organs. She would be sewn up later and buried, hopefully one day to be returned to a family missing their daughter.
Tom pulled a pair of rubber gloves out of a breast pocket and slipped them on. He noticed the lack of flesh on the corpse, finding that aspect quite peculiar as well as telling about the killer. The detail to remove the flesh in its entirety from a human was a voluminous clue. “You say the flesh was removed while she was still alive?” Tom asked the question rhetorically. He hadn’t missed that tidbit, but saying it aloud impacted on himself more solidly that simply recalling it. “
Bakker stood aside, putting on his own gloves and nodded, “Yes, the marks we found on her muscles indicate it was before the other wounds, they were well clotted and starting to knit together in some places. Not too much longer after she died but...she felt that. No traces of pain killers, not even some fucking Tylenol. Lab found Midazolam and Propofol, he made sure she didn’t move but she felt and knew what he was doing.”
His voice lowered to a growl, then he shook his head, pressing his lips together until they were a white line against his ruddy beard.
Tom looked at the opened chest. “You say there was an object embedded in her chest. I see it was removed.” Tom looked around at Dr. Laine and Donnelley, “did one of you secure this piece of evidence?”
Donnelley glanced at Laine before he reached down and grabbed up the duffel bag, placing it on the empty exam table. He paused, a heavy sigh escaping him and a very strong urge to step outside for a smoke. It’d have to wait. He unzipped the bag, rummaging around clothing items until the crinkling of a ziplock was heard. He pulled free a bag and tossed it onto the exam table with a trace of disgust. Within it, a sharp piece of some type of mineral black like a hole in the world stared out at them.
Donnelley’s appearance was not lost on Agent Stewart. He watched him handle the small shard in the ziploc bag and place it on the exam table. Tom picked the bag up to have a closer inspection of the shard. “How was this inserted?” was the thought he had, while verbalizing the question. He stared at the thing a bit longer and he started to feel bad. It was a feeling he felt many years ago. He began to see clouds swirling in it surface. He recalled the black stone in Northern Afghanistan those many years ago. As soon as he realized what he held, he dropped the item back onto the exam table. “Holy shit!” Tom paused, not ready to explain how he recognized the thing. “Where did that come from?!” Fear and anxiety were overwhelming him. He felt sad, turned to Donnelley, “Agent Davidson, could we go outside for a few minutes?”
“Way the fuck ahead of you, Devil Dog.” Donnelley turned on his heel and stuffed a cigarette between his lips. He stopped for a beat, looking at Bakker and Laine, then Bakker again.
“I’m sorry you had to do this.” His eyes lingered on Bakker’s own. He knew they didn’t have the best of starts but nobody deserved a look like that in their eyes. It was those same eyes Donnelley had when he got back to his FOB in Afghanistan years ago. He opened his mouth to say something else but looked to the side, shaking his head and continuing on his way after Tom.
Dr Bakker watched Donnelley take the shard out of the duffel bag and Laine could see his shoulders tense. She felt it herself, the anxiety and dread over something so small yet it reminded her of death and horror in Olympia Forest and now here in West Virginia.
Bakker stepped away from her but before he could answer Agent Stewart’s question the man reacted to the shard. He paused, his gaze moving back to the body of the dead woman that he had spent hours delving into, mentally and physically taking her apart into pieces to figure out what had happened. But she was not just a puzzle but a person and he had stayed awake too long last night thinking about worst case scenarios until he knocked himself out with a heavy dose of Nyquil bought from the small hotel lobby storefront.
He turned to look at Donnelley, then nodded, rubbing his scruff covered chin, “Part of me wishes I hadn’t answered Dr Laine’s call, but if there had to be someone to do this...”
Bakker sighed heavily, glancing at Laine who hung back, and looked back at Donnelley, “I know I did as best I could by her.”
Whether he spoke of Jane Doe or Heather Laine, it was unclear and he said no more. Bakker nodded to him and turned away, the cords on the back of his neck standing out with tension as he looked down at the body.
Laine waited until the men left then walked over to Dr Bakker to stand beside him. He was still silent and she waited, watching him from the corner of her eye brooding over the victim.
"I'm also sorry to put this on you, but I trust you," Laine said.
Bakker rubbed the bridge of his nose then glanced at her. He was still taller than she was in her high heels and he looked slightly down in her face. "Yeah, you said that. Look, this has been a weird damn two days. I missed the conference, by the way."
They both stayed silent then she added, "I guess I'll find someone else to copy off of."
Bakker cut a dark look at her, muttering, "Christ's sake."
"Sorry."
He sighed then shook his head, toying with the edge of the latex gloves. "Seems like much longer than...what's it been 24, 36 hours? Seems like a week since I came down to Whitetree. I was glad to leave it. That place is depressing."
"It's strange," Laine agreed vaguely, "The whole county. The people there..."
"Your new partner," Bakker said, "All of it seems off. But I did my part and I'm going home today. I already made an appointment with the counselor at Johns Hopkins."
Laine turned to him, "Because of this?"
"Somewhat, and I mean a counselor to see how many courses I would need to renew my surgical license. Not a shrink, no offense."
"I still think it would be a disservice to law enforcement but it's your life," Laine said.
"It would make Lily happy, too. That matters to me," Bakker said, glancing aside at her and he held out the folder with the autopsy report.
Laine nodded stiffly as she took it, tucking it under her arm, then turned away. She dug into her purse for her clove cigarettes. "I think I'll grab a smoke, too."