“I didn't know which one may be related to the victim so I just..."
“It’s fine. This might be enough to tie him into a few other things.”
“Yeah...”
“…Rivera.”
“Hm?”
“After this case is over do you want to-”
Everything was lost in storm of metal and glass.
~*~
?????
?????, ?????
“Fuck…”
His voice came out as a croak. It hurt to talk, let alone breathe.
Jaime tried pushing himself up and instantly regretted the action. A scream built in his throat but he managed to keep it from becoming anything more than quick, shallow gasps. His leg felt like it on fire…why was his leg on fire? Other shots of pain began registering to him with increasing clarity-at his ribs, his head, his back, his everything-but it all paled in comparison to his leg. Did he even want to see if it looked as bad as it felt?
Better to focus on other things, what little he could at least. It was dark. He was slumped over something hard that arched and was facing a mass of splintered white cracked with darkness. Somewhere in the back of his mind he knew he should have already recognized the situation for what it was but his conscious self didn't want to put a name to these things.
His eyes began drooping slightly, unbidden. He bit the inside of his cheeks to keep awake. He couldn’t afford to lose consciousness again. Not after…
He paused for a moment.
Not after what happened? He thought.
Something had barreled into the car’s side. They had been out there because…
Jaime’s consciousness jolted as everything came back.
That’s right. Rivera and I were…
He turned his head face the passenger seat. The detective’s head rested at an uncomfortable angle against the now-cracked window. Her dark reddish-brown hair obscured her face.
“Rivera?” When she didn’t react his voice took an edge of panic. “Rivera! Detective Rivera! Lex!”
He bit down a curse as he shifted his position but the burning waves exploded up his leg, tearing a scream from his lips. Fingers trembling, head dizzy from the pain, he reached to brush away the strands of hair hanging over her face but on contact he suddenly retracted his hand.
That wasn’t her hair obscuring her face. It was thick streaks of blood.
A sickening sensation pooled at the pit of his stomach. If he couldn't see her taking those small breaths he…
Jaime shoved down the negative thoughts that threatened to throw him into hysteria. He needed to focus, take the next logical step.
If only his leg would stop hurting…
Jaime threw that to the back of his mind along with the query why his leg felt soaked with something.
He spotted his cell phone lying on the far end of the car by Rivera's feet, having gone flying during the crash. Jaime leaned his body over to reach it but came short. Another hiss of pain escaped him. His leg was jammed in place, restraining him to that spot. Out of desperation he threw his body forward as he swiped at his phone but it remained just out of reach. All he received from the effort was more blinding shots of pain.
Jaime wanted to scream in frustration. There had to be something. A passerby, a returning police officer, someone! Anything!
As if on cue, he heard the roar of an engine off in the distance. Jaime quickly slammed down on the horn. He hit it at least three times before stopping to listen for the engine. The engine in the distance seemed to have stopped for a moment. He was about to hit the horn again when he heard the engine getting increasingly louder. Someone was-had to be coming.
A light flooded the road as the baying engine grew louder. Jaime painfully pushed himself upright, twisting so he could look back at the arriving vehicle. He weakly threw an arm over his face to protect his eyes from the light's glare but he could still make out the outline of the vehicle. He opened his mouth to call out but as soon as he did, warning bells began screeching away in his mind.
That vehicle, he had seen it before.
It was a huge dark coloured truck, possibly rented based on the insignia on the hood. It also bore a nasty dent and scratches on its front, as though it had been hit by something before.
Or it had been the one to hit something.
By the time this dawned on Jaime, the truck had pulled to a stop. His apprehension spiked as he heard the truck’s door open and footsteps crunch against the road.
Jaime turned back to Rivera's prone form and pulled away at her jacket, fumbling for her shoulder holster. If he could just-
Gloved fingers snared the hair at the back of Jaime’s head. He instinctively turned into the grip but the fingers held fast, locking Jaime’s head in place. With a sudden jerk Jaime felt his head dragged to the left and smashed into the steering wheel over and over again until he lost consciousness.
~*~
October 13, 11:37AM
Lake Demeter
Jaime shivered as he stepped out of his black Subaru. It was still the middle of autumn but it was beginning to feel like winter was creeping in early. What he wouldn't give for a large cup of hot chocolate...
Oh well, duty calls, he thought.
Police were already swarming Lake Demeter’s perimeter by the time he arrived. People were milling about nearby the line so a few officers were stationed to keep too eager gawkers out. The lake was a good twenty minutes outside the city limits so the crowd must have come from the campsite. Usually, the campsite was all but deserted around this time of the year but there were a surprisingly large number of residents this year. The campsite had been expanded earlier that year to accommodate the influx of people who had come to Chicago looking for work during the current boom period but without a place to stay. When he was waved through by one of the officers he heard a few outcries from some of the gawkers how it wasn't fair.
Leeches, Jaime thought with disgust, rolling his eyes. They were just parasites looking to get a kick of excitement off of another person's life. If only they would stick to rooting themselves in front of the TV and getting their thrills that way. Preferably far, far away from where he would have to deal with them.
It didn't take long before he spotted whom he was looking for standing a few meters away talking to a few other detectives.
"Detective Rivera," he called with a lazy drawl.
The redhead took something from one the detectives before returning his greeting with a tired nod. "Morning, sir, you're just in time. Kent just sent over the initial autopsy report-"
She was interrupted by a heaving sound. A young detective was busy emptying his stomach into the bushes. Rivera's sight lingered on the younger detective's shaking form a bit longer before she said, “Murphy, could you go see if the Ladies in Forensics have anything new?”
“R-right away…” He mumbled weakly. He pulled himself away from the bushes only to rush back with another dry heave.
For the past few years, ‘Ladies in Forensics’ had become the police department’s de facto name for the forensics division. The section was made of almost entirely of ladies, all relatively nice and possessing a questionable amount of sanity. Though there were a few men in forensics there weren’t enough to form their own faction.
Rivera shook her head as Murphy stumbled away. “I told him not to eat anything before coming.”
“He’s seen corpses before,” Jaime said.
“Not like this,” she replied grimly. “All the bodies he’s seen were all relatively fresh. This one was well into the putrefaction stage, assumable killed the same day she was kidnapped, and it's been rotting in the water all this time. This is the first time he’s had to deal with an extreme case like this.”
“This is your first time too. I don’t see you kneeling over at the bushes,” Jaime pointed out.
“I wasn’t with clean up. Besides,” her voice tapered off a little, “there are some things you don't just brush off.”
Like the fact the victim had just been a little girl. That was left unsaid between the two as they walked around the lake’s perimeter.
“We removed the corpse around eight-ish, about an hour or two after a jogger found it,” Rivera stated.
“What did the iPod addict say?”
She handed him the autopsy file. “Stein says that the victim had an ugly bump at the back of her head but it wasn't bad enough to be fatal so the cause of death had to have been the drowning. Abrasions and cuts aside, there’s bruises on her shoulder and collar bone where the murderer held her down. Also, her nails were ravaged. Like she was tearing at something.”
“So she struggled,” Jaime said.
Or the murderer broke them, he added darkly. It wouldn't be the first time a few nails were broken to get rid of genetic evidence.
Instead, he said, “Forensics must have picked something up, one way or another.”
“Not this time,” she replied. “The body is at least a few days old and the water’s washed away anything viable. Something was roughly dragged over the body so we're guessing that the murderer tried cleaning his traces before letting the body go.”
“So no prints, no DNA, no solid witness, not even a solid motive outside the crime itself,” he frowned. “How did we get a suspect?”
“Circumstantial evidence. Bundy Quill has a vacation home less than twenty minutes away from here by foot and his wallet was found buried in mud nearby. Eyewitness reports say that Bundy had been there for about a week before the night of the victim’s disappearance. Someone came by with a delivery that night and Bundy was nowhere to be found. The delivery man caught him the next morning but Bundy was in a hurry to return to the city for work, at least that's what we've gathered so far.”
“This isn’t much to work with,” the prosecutor said, looking at Rivera as though it were her fault. “The trial is scheduled for tomorrow and this is what the police are giving me to work with?”
Rivera averted her eyes and stared off across the lake to where other officers were working, an action Jaime couldn’t tell was out of guilt or procrastination. Finally, she said in a flat voice, “Technically, this is just speculation but the higher ups are pushing to have this taken care of fast.”
“Why?”
“Bundy Quill is the only son of Mayor Asher Quill.”
Jaime stopped walking, letting the information sink in. The pieces fit together so well he couldn’t help but let out a bark of laughter.
“I get it! It makes perfect sense,” Jaime exclaimed. “This is just rich…They’re pushing this trial because there’s a lack of evidence. Is that right?”
“The story is that they want to see the criminal found fast so comfort and justice can be given to the victim’s family,” Rivera said, not confirming or denying his suspicion but the look of distaste on her face was enough confirmation for him. “Mayor Quill is pushing for it so that our ‘farce of an accusation’ will end.”
“Of course he would, elections are next month. If his son was found guilty it would be a big hit to his campaign. But, if his son gets declared not guilty the problem is solved. No one could ever say that his kid didn't get a fair trial and he could never be tried for it again. And of course the icing on the cake is that an acquittal would be the perfect tool to drum up sympathy in the hearts of weak-minded saps."
“It would probably work too,” Rivera admitted.
“Of course.” Jaime let out a bitter laugh as he shook his head. “God, how I hate this city…”
“On the bright side, according to the Law of Compensation all these negatives have to add up to positive eventually," she said, half-serious. It was a weak attempt but he saw the sympathy in the gesture. She understood how corruption in Chicago worked longer than he had. After all, she had spent years surrounded with the politics of the Magliozzi family before she became a cop. "We dealt with more annoying situations last year, this'll be no different.
Jaime reached into his pocket and pulled out a small notepad with a bright yellow, fuzzy smiley face on the flap. “Let’s get started then.”
~*~
“Can you hear me!? You’re at the hospital! Do you understand!? You’re at the hospital!”
~*~
October 13, 9:04PM
Detention Center
“I keep telling you, if you want the facts ask my lawyer,” Bundy said to Jaime. “I already explained it to the cops earlier. Are you guys deaf or what?”
Jaime sat across from the suspect with a detached expression, calmly reminding himself as satisfying as it might be it wouldn’t be professional to grab the man’s head and bash it into the table.
“Consider this protocol,” the prosecutor replied smoothly. “I personally believe doing the same thing over and over again and expecting a different result qualifies as insanity.”
“Then you and the entire police force must be crazy,” Bundy said. “I keep saying the same thing but you guys keep pushing it. You guys have combed through my place twice and you guys are still expecting something? That’s not just insane, that’s retarded.”
The words bothered Jaime more than he wanted to admit. If this were any other time the words wouldn't have had much of an effect on him. It wasn’t as though he had walked into this meeting expecting to walk away with any new information, it had just been protocol and the idea that he had nothing to lose out of a meeting that brought him there, but he didn’t like being reminded he was currently losing.
Jaime wasn’t a sore loser. He had even lost cases before because one of his set ups failed or simply because the defense was better, that he could live with. Losing because it felt like every little thing was going out of its way to impede was what frustrated him.
The door creaked open. The security guard looked unusually nervous as he said, “Prosecutor Law, there’s a visitor here for Mr. Quill."
"Probably my lawyer, either that or the press's here to see how big a mistake you guys made," Bundy said flippantly.
Jaime simply nodded to the security guard. "We're done."
The security guard looked like he wanted to say more but he remained silent. He motioned for the suspect to follow him. Bundy threw Jaime one last contemptuous sneer that transformed into bewilderment when the prosecutor met it with a thoughtfully amused smirk.
"I'm sorry," Jaime said, his mouth quirked slightly. "I was just reflecting how every single suspect I've run into that has run his mouth with such arrogant confidence has ended up guilty. Almost as though they jinxed themselves."
Bundy didn't seem to appreciate the observation. He took a threatening step towards the prosecutor but abruptly changed trajectory and walked out the door and past the security guard. Jaime waved off the guard, who quickly complied.
Only when the door shut did Jaime allow himself to slump back into his chair. Though he had said that taunt to Bundy with confidence it hadn't been enough to convince himself about this case.
Several hours had passed since the investigation started and he was feeling little better about the case than when he first heard the details. The Ladies in Forensics hadn’t turned up anything else aside from the fact the murderer had been thorough enough to damage any residue DNA and the days the corpse had spent submerged in water hadn’t helped. They had the wallet, that was enough to place Bundy at the scene of the crime but it wasn’t enough to place if he had placed it before, around, or after the time of the murder. There was no solid alibi for Bundy but if the defense were worth their salt (and Mayor Quill would have ensured they’d be among the best) they’d help make one appear. All Jaime had in his corner was a few testimonies that weren’t as solid as he would have liked (one claiming to have seen a man heading towards the lake on the night of the murder but they struck Jaime as an unreliable leech) and some evidence that could potentially be turned back against him if the time came. Even after they had gotten access to Bundy’s vacation home there wasn’t anything worth using in the trial. Rivera had offered to give the place another look but Jaime’s expectations of her finding anything missed were low.
He flipped to a small chart he had scribbled in messy red ink. At the bottom was a small box marked ‘motive: lust?’.
Even though the crime spoke for itself it wouldn’t be enough. Jaime had full confidence he could drag the trial out, maybe to the second or third day of the three-day limit if he was extremely lucky but getting enough to convict Bundy was another story. Not without the hard, decisive evidence that he was sorely lacking. Without that there was more than enough reasonable guilt for the defense to take advantage of.
In short, Jaime was screwed.
A quick glance at his watch told him he had wasted enough time there. He stretched as he stood. He should probably stop by the office. He hadn't been there all day; someone may have dropped off something.
Jaime mulling over whether extra investigation time gained by dragging out the trial past the first day would be useful or not when he heard a shrill scream that made him freeze.
“That’s all you have to say!? You violated my daughter!"
It was a woman's voice, no doubt belonging to the victim's mother.
The security guard that had come to collect Bundy Quill earlier was anxiously standing outside the door of the visitor's room. The man seemed to notice Jaime's hard stare and said quickly, "I wasn't eavesdropping, sir. It's...just in case."
Jaime didn't point out the fact you couldn't miss the loud angry screams if you wanted to. Perhaps a shade sharper than he meant, he said, "Why is she in there?"
"She's been pressing for a chance to meet the suspect all day," the guard replied uncomfortably. "I asked her if that's what she really wanted but she insisted on it. It's her right to request a meeting and the suspect gave his consent."
"I understand."
He did. It didn't mean it made it any easier hearing the wails of the anguished woman behind the door.
"She was about to start her new school…she was playing community basketball…she…she made a batch of cookies that morning that were burnt but you could still taste the sweetness. That evening she was smiling and then the next time I saw her she was...she wasn't...How can you calmly sit there like that!?”
Suddenly, there was an eerie silence from the other side of the door. The security guard glanced over at Jaime, as though for permission, before turning to peer through the small glass pane. Shock crossed his features and was preceded by a loud slamming from the room. He jerked the door open and rushed in as the slamming wildly continued with increasing ferocity.
When Jaime entered the room he was struck by two things. On one side of the glass was the victim's mother in mid-swing of the chair being restrained by the security guard. On the other side of the slightly-cracked glass was another security guard come to check on the overly satisfied looking Bundy Quill. The continued shrieks of 'Murderer!' only seemed to bloat that satisfaction.
“Relax, lady. If I did it the evidence will say all, that’s the point of court," Bundy said, full of jeering. He pointed to Jaime and said, "That’s the job of that guy over there. Go screech at him.”
Bundy didn't get another word out because the security guard on his side of the glass began ushering him but it made little difference. Nothing was going to reverse the image Jaime now had of a hysterical mother as she nearly punched the security officer in her struggle and the look on Bundy's face as he briefly looked back at the sight. He snorted at what he caused before leaving the rest of them to deal with the aftermath of his mess.
Though Jaime should have stayed he found himself outside, in the parking lot, fumbling for his keys. The security guard had tried calling after him but he had been too busy dealing with the grief stricken woman. As for Jaime, he had just wanted to get away from that scene. He wanted to be thinking rationally again and not about the two images he had seen juxtaposed by the glass.
People were wronged by others and were wronged in return everyday most often on purpose than not. That was something Jaime had come to accept long before becoming a prosecutor. You couldn't get upset every time there was an injustice without going insane; it was just common sense that even the stoutest optimist would have to accept. Things happened and even if you took care of one case three more would take its place. The world was always going to be filled with victims. Contrary to what some people assumed, being a prosecutor wasn't a matter of punishing the wicked or gaining justice for the victims left behind. It was just the job of playing opposite of a defense attorney.
Or at least, that's how Jaime had come to see it.
Jaime spat out a curse. His keys were tangled in the spiral of his heavily abused notepad. He pulled at the loop and in the effort, the pages flipped to a small section he had avoided looking over in detail.
Name: Mary Clearwater.
Age: 11
Cause of death: Drowning.
Other: -Went missing on October 9th. Noticed missing in the evening and a manhunt was underway. Search lasted for three days until corpse found by jogger. Body was under docks.
-Signs of sexual assault.
Nothing listed about her starting a new school or basketball or burnt-yet sweet cookies. It didn't mean anything to the case and was too complicated to drag into work. Cold, probably, but dragging in emotional baggage was what stilted work. All that mattered was whether Bundy did it or not, not the tragic elements that tied into it, that was just more emotional involvement and he didn't need the complications. And if he repeated that thought enough then maybe he'd start thinking like his usual rational self again.
But still his thoughts kept flashing back to the two sides of the glass again, of the screams on one side and the callous words from the other.
“Relax, lady. If I did it the evidence will say all, that’s the point of court. That’s the job of that guy over there. Go screech at him.”
Jaime broke into a laugh.
He was sure someone up there appreciated the irony in all this. The first time he ever felt like approaching his job for a more ‘appropriate’ reason outside his usual reasoning (money, boredom, curiosity, just because it was his job) he lacked the means to do so. It figured. God was a sadist. That was probably why his children were so messed up and why they were all one big dysfunctional family.
Little did Jaime suspect he was about to deal with many of his dysfunctional ‘brethren’ that night.
~*~
“How is he?”
“As well as we can expect, Prosecutor Law. Your son's condition is stabilized but we were unable to do much for his leg. I’m afraid that…”
~*~
October 13
Prosecutor's Office, Jaime Law's Office
Jaime slowed his stride. The lights were on. That was odd. He hadn’t been in there all day. Even if he had forgotten to turn them off the day before the janitor would have.
The room's intruder was a middle aged man with dark hair and gray streaks running down his temples. When the man looked up to see Jaime at the doorway, Jaime instantly made the connection.
"Forgive me, the janitor let me in," his visitor said with a curt nod.
Jaime studied the man's face a moment longer. There was no mistaking the resemblance. "Mayor Quill."
"And you would be James Law?" Quill inquired.
"Jaime Law. James is my father."
Quill turned his full attention to the room itself, as though he had been seeing it for the first time instead of having been waiting there for god knows how long. Jaime’s office was plain if not messy. It consisted of a desk, a bookcase slouching under the weight of files, junk filled cabinets, a pile of worn paperbacks by his desk, and empty hot chocolate packets carelessly littering counters. Jaime decided that Quill had either never been in a lawyer’s office and was curious or was implying a drab room was more interesting than the young prosecutor. Jaime was leaning on the latter.
Long live posturing games of dominance, he thought.
Quill eventually stopped at the bookshelf. "Not all these files are yours."
"They were the office's previous owner," Jaime explained. The day he moved in was the same day the owner had left in a body bag. Jaime hadn't needed all the space and the effort of cleaning up someone else's files hadn't impressed him.
Quill looked even less impressed with him.
"You're not what I expected."
"How so?" Jaime asked. Quill waved a hand at the unorganized stacks of useless papers, the paperbacks, and empty hot chocolate packets, his lip curled in distaste. Jaime shrugged. He was used to that, among other things. "How I treat my space and how well I work isn't related."
"Yes, how you work is seems to be an interesting topic piece," Quill said. "You have a mixed reputation, Mr. Law. Some insist you're the most lethargic prosecutor to enter a courtroom. Others say you have the devil's luck. Or, that your records are only average because you're unmotivated."
"And what do you think?"
"That's what I am trying to determine right now. I dislike rumors. They are too inconsistent and never tell me what I need."
Jaime snorted. "That I can agree with."
"Then you understand why I wanted to meet with you before tomorrow's trial. I wanted to see the face of the man that would be running this farce."
"And?" Jaime prompted, when Quill didn't say anything more. "You can't expect me to believe that's your only reason. If you just wanted to see my face that's what photos are for."
"That's correct." The older man affixed a hard gaze on Jaime. "Mr. Law, I am not solely a parent, more importantly I am a politician. I do not have time to deal with the foolishness my progeny gets into. This absurdity affects not only him but the rest of the family through baseless slander thrown only because of the police's inability to find an actual suspect.
"That is why my interest turns to you. The police are the ones that formally arrest and charge suspects but you are the one that actually persuades the judge and you are the one who blames of incompetence will fall on tomorrow. I understand you are quite aware of the situation thus far regarding how little there is to convict my son. It must be quite frustrating."
Jaime nodded his head, absently twirling the pen on the desk. Bundy and Quill were definitely father and son. Though Quill's speech and mannerisms were much more refined than his son's, Jaime could see the familiar traces of the sneer and arrogance that Bundy shared. Jaime knew that evidence was everything in the courtroom. Gut feelings and suppositions meant little unless they had evidence backing it up and, ideally, suspects were supposed to be innocent until proven guilty. Bundy and Mayor Quill knew that and flaunted the idea, as though it meant that Bundy had to be innocent.
Somehow, that pissed Jaime off.
Jaime looked at the mayor with a lazy look but the slight edge in his voice was unmistakable. “Mayor Quill, some lawyers would say that whatever the truth, if the client is truly innocent then the evidence will speak for itself.”
“And what is your belief?” Quill asked.
“Whatever happens, happens,” Jaime replied in a colloquial tone. “If he really is innocent, if this really is just an absurd farce, then you shouldn't be worried. It'll all just be swept away. That is the reason you've been pushing for this trial to be done quickly, isn't it?"
Just in time for elections, he thought snidely.
Jaime wasn't sure if something showed on his face or Quill had caught something in his speech but a guarded rigidness crossed Quill's face.
"I think," Quill said, decidedly cooler than before, "you and I will be unable to see eye to eye on this matter."
"I think we can see eye to eye on that."
Quill nodded brusquely. Moving for the door, his parting words were, "Good luck with tomorrow's trial, Mr. Law."
The 'you'll need it' remained unsaid but the meaning was there nevertheless.
The young prosecutor just stood there for a while, just long enough to let the tension of the meeting flow off him. Once he felt marginally better he crossed to the hot water boiler and snatched a packet of hot chocolate and a mug emblazed with 'Growing old is mandatory, but growing up is optional' off from the side. He might as well have something to redeem today.
The steam had started to rise when his cell phone went off. Jaime rolled his eyes. With how today had been going he wouldn't be surprised if it was the universe dropping something else to top off this fantastically vexing day. Maybe his cat had gotten run over or something equally tragic. Mechanically, he flipped it open.
“Law?” It was Rivera. Her voice was somewhat shaky but it was definitely her. “I think I have your hard evidence.”
Jaime's grip on the phone tightened. “What is it?”
“You better come see for yourself. Also…”
“Also?” He prompted.
“There are some men that don’t look very friendly standing by my car. I need a ride back.”
~*~
“Sir, you need to get some rest. Go home, get something to eat, take a walk, call your wife, just go do something else. The doctor will tell you when he’s awake.”
“This is fine.”
“But-”
“Someone needs to be here to deliver the news. He’ll want it as soon as he’s conscious and when he is, it should be from a familiar face.”
~*~
October 13, 11:36PM
Highway 13
Rivera had told him to pay attention to the side roads. She had said she would be sneaking out the back of the house and down the highway until he spotted her. He hadn't received anymore calls from her so he was assuming she had gotten out without any problems. It almost pained Jaime to drive at a slower pace. He knew he should if he was going to have an easier time spotting her but the anticipation made him want to floor it.
There was hard evidence. He finally had something solid he could stand on tomorrow.
It wasn't until three quarters of the way until he spotted a silhouette down the road. He came to crawl as the figure threw up an arm to shield from the light.
"Rivera," he greeted.
Visible relief crossed her face. She smiled loosely and said, "Hey, took you long enough."
Jaime stretched over and unlocked the door. Rivera settled in the seat beside him while dragging with her a small gray duffle bag. Jaime raised an eye at it. Rivera hadn't been carrying it earlier that day so it could only be...
Rivera inhaled sharply as he reached for the bag's zipper. "Law, wait-"
Jaime should have registered the apprehension in her voice but all he could think about was what the bag held. Why had Rivera been so sure this was the evidence he needed? Would this really be enough? Or was he just projecting his hopes onto this thing? He'd only know once he had this thing torn open.
And so he did.
He felt sick, something that rarely happened. He was used to reading through detailed files on murders and had regular habit of watching gore movies but this was a new level of disgust for him.
The bag was stuffed with women's undergarments.
They were all stained by...something.
The prosecutor gripped the steering wheel until his knuckles were white while the detective mercifully remained silent.
The black Subaru turned sharply and made its way down the highway and back to Chicago.
"Where did you find it?" Jaime asked, after several minutes of silence passed.
"There was a fake compartment in the bed's mantle," River answered quietly. "I almost missed it too."
"Elaborate, Rivera. How did you find out it was there?"
"I dropped my pen, reached under the bed to grab it, was swiping downward at it and my hand got caught on the small ledge where the mantle meets the slab of the bed. I accidentally put too much weight on the ledge and the bottom of the mantle just came loose and these fell out. I didn't know which one may be related to the victim so I just..."
“It’s fine," he said. "This might be enough to tie him into a few other things.”
"Yeah..."
A low groaning sound suddenly broke the tension.
Jaime a raised brow at the offending detective. She returned it with a joking, half-defensive tone, "Like you haven't missed a meal or two over a case."
"No, I haven't."
She looked at him with that cursed innocent look, the one she always used when she wanted something. "Oh yeah, don't you usually keep a snack or two around..."
Jaime rolled his eyes, mostly at himself. He knew he was going to regret this. "Glove compartment. There's some granola bars there, take it or leave it. And if you touch the chocolate one I'm taking it from your salary," he warned as he saw her hand hover over the chocolate granola bar. There were some things you couldn't compromise over. Chocolate was one of them.
"Yes, sir," she said with mock gravity.
I should dock her pay just for that, he thought, but without venom.
They lulled back into silence. Jaime's thoughts ran through the facts again. They wouldn't know if Rivera's discovery was directly linked to the case until they got the bag to the Ladies in Forensics (he'd leave that to Rivera, he could never remember their names for the life of him) but these would give him something to work with. No matter how the defense tried to twist it, if Bundy's DNA was on it there was going to be hell to pay for Bundy and his father.
"What are you thinking?" Rivera asked, noting the smirk on his face.
"Only that this may be enough to destroy that re-election campaign the mayor's spent so much money on," he answered nonchalantly. "Oh well."
Rivera nodded with a wicked smile before turning her attention back to her-was that her forth?!-granola bar. True to her word she had left the lone chocolate bar alone but all the other ones were now gone. Jaime suppressed a groan. He knew he should have been more specific with his offer. He just bought that stash...
Oh well.
He'd let it slide. Right now, he was feeling the best he had all day. It was an odd feeling, when was the last time he ever felt this elated over the prospect of entering the courtroom? He wasn't stupid, he knew nothing was absolute until the verdict was handed out, but while he was far from an optimist he was willing to settle for being confident that he could be in control during the trial.
Absently, he watched Rivera from the corner of his eye. She didn't bother suppressing the yawn. Granola bar thief aside, he was thankful for this, among other things.
It was the calming mood that unconsciously led him to say something he had brushed aside for months.
"...Rivera."
She let out another yawn. "Hm?"
Some part of him wanted to slap himself-there was a reason he never brought this up before, mostly over how cliché and out of character it would be for him-but he figured what the hell. He was halfway there anyway.
"When this case is over do you want to-"
That was when the truck smashed into them.
~*~
In the awkward stage between waking and sleep, certain facts became clear to Jaime.
His head dully stung.
There was a weird scent permeating the air. The air was dry, sterile.
One of his legs were in an uncomfortable position...inclined upwards? Cramped too.
Something is wrong, a small voice whispered.
Jaime jerked to life.
He flailed out for a moment but someone gently and firmly steadied him. "Easy, Jaime, easy."
The voice instantly had a calming effect on the young prosecutor. He blinked his eyes, willing his vision to clear. "Dad-agh..."
There was that pain in his leg again. It wasn't burning anymore at least.
"Don't strain yourself," James ordered.
Jaime hadn't inherited much from his father. Save their brown eyes there was little resemblance. Unlike Jaime, James was above average height, wore a neatly trimmed beard, and had red hair, just like-
"Rivera," Jaime said, alarmed. The memory of her face streaked with blood resurfaced. "Is she-"
"Lex is resting," James said with a placating nod. He smiled nicely, as he always did. "The doctor said she's experienced some spinal injury but it isn't permanent. She should recover in about a month."
"That's...good to hear." He winced as he tried pushing himself up a little more. James gave him a reapproving stare. Jaime returned it with a petulant look. As usual though he relented to his father's will and slid back down against the bed.
James stood, apparently satisfied. "There's a coffee machine down the hall. The hot chocolate is only slightly better than average but you've never been picky about that. Let me tell the doctor and-"
"Dad."
"Yes?"
"You're hedging."
James’ hand rested on the doorknob. He didn't immediately respond; no one ever seemed to when there was something more to a situation.
That voice whispered again, Something is wrong.
"Jaime," his father said quietly. "You just woke up from a car accident-"
"It wasn't an accident," he said hotly. "What happened when I was out, dad?"
"I don't think now is the best time," James said evasively.
"I'm going to find out sometime and it isn't going to make a difference how I react so just tell me now! What happened to the Bundy Quill case?"
James remained still for a moment longer. Slowly, he turned to face Jaime with an unreadable expression. If this were any other time Jaime might have felt guilt for causing that out of character expression for his dad. Right now he couldn't care less.
"What happened?" He repeated, curter than before. No response. He tried a different question. "How long have I been out?"
Even that seemed too much for James to reply to. James' jaw clenched, wanting Jaime to back down as he always did but Jaime's eyes kept boring into his father. Finally, James was the one to back down. He returned to the chair by the bed and rubbed his temples as his shoulders sagged in defeat.
"Exempting the brief periods you drifted in and out, three days."
The younger of two let the words sink in. He closed his eyes and nodded as if to say 'continue'.
"Detective Murphy was the one who found you. He forgot his cell phone at Mr. Quill's house and drove out there to retrieve it. Fortunately he spotted the wreck on the way there."
About time one of his screw ups paid off, Jaime thought bitterly.
"Who replaced me then?"
"Frank Raud."
"It would be him," Jaime growled. "Pick a city council suck up when their best interests are in mind."
"The Chief Prosecutor insisted."
"And that's why you didn't insist on taking over?" Jaime accused.
"I was in the middle of another case," his father said shortly.
"But you let him take it when-" Pain exploded up his leg again as he attempted to lean forward. He hissed, "Damn this thing..."
Jaime became acutely aware of the odd expression on his father's face. His eyes were focused on Jaime's leg.
"Jaime, there is something else we have to discuss," his father said gravely. "That leg is the reason the doctors had to rush you into surgery."
"That's not important," he said dismissively. "The trial-"
"Jaime." James' voice was tight. It was then Jaime realized what that odd expression had been: pain. "The crash...your leg took the worst of it. The tendons and ligaments were ruptured. The doctors did the best they could to put it back together but it wasn't a complete success. Even with additional surgery they said your leg will never be the same."
These words hit harder than the last.
He numbly stared down at the elevated leg. He hadn't even noted the modified cast.
Jaime felt as though someone had stood him on a crumbling precipice.
He swallowed. He knew asking his next question would only worsen the feeling but he had to keep pressing it.
"Did Raud get the gray duffle bag?" Jaime asked soberly. "It was in the car with us. Rivera was carrying it."
"No," James replied. "Investigators all but tore the car apart and didn't find a thing."
Jaime clenched the sheets hard enough for him to feel him nails digging through the cloth and at his skin. Subconsciously, he already knew the outcome. There was no point in asking but he couldn't shut himself up, couldn't stop the feeling that that precipice was becoming narrower and narrower as he teetered on the brink.
"How long did the trial last?"
"One day. Jaime...I'm sorry. There wasn't enough decisive evidence to push the case further."
Those words were the final push needed to shove Jaime off that precipice.
Jaime let out a snort that morphed in a bitter, angry laugh. "Not enough evidence....definitely by the time they got done with it...."
James said his name but Jaime's mind was too busy whirling.
Three days ago, when he had been facing the trial with little evidence and things placed out of his control, he had thought that was the worst feeling. Now he knew better.
This...this was the worst.
Someone was pulling at him, telling him to calm down. Stop shaking.
It was far worse to have known, without a doubt, that the bastard had done the crime and to have held the one thing that could have damned him and that bastard of a father only to promptly lose it shortly after.
He felt his hand lash out at something. More blurred voices.
Bundy Quill would never be taken to court over Mary Clearwater's murder again. The double jeopardy law ensured that.
Someone was screaming. His throat hurt.
And what did he have to show from all this? A crippled leg?
Something small and sharp jabbed into his throat. Drowsiness was settling...
God really did have a sadistic sense of humor....It was all so fucking hysterical...
~*~
November 16, 9: 40AM
Lex Rivera's Apartment
"Come on, Scotch," Lex called as she passed the couch. The border-collie briefly looked up from the TV to generate a whine in her direction. She sighed in exasperation. "You need the exercise as much as I do. Now up."
Earlier in the month when she had first started dragging Scotch on her daily run the mutt was ecstatic. Now he was probably eagerly awaiting her to return to work and start neglecting him again.
Which should be soon, she thought.
The first week or two had been difficult but now she could run without it hurting too badly. The doctor had given her the green light to return to work by the next week. Until then, she would just have to settle for torturing her dog in forcing him to get some exercise.
"Scotch, up."
The dog looked up at her pleadingly as if to say 'in a minute' before butting the remote, causing the screen to flip.
"In other news, Asher Quill's re-election campaign resulted in a stunning landslide. Mayor Quill will be entering his second term as mayor with plans to renew the spirit of our law system after his son was falsely-"
If Lex had pushed down any harder, her thumb would have punched through the soft rubber of the power button.
As though sensing her mood, Scotch whined softly and nuzzled her hand. Lex smiled reassuringly and lightly scratched his ears. Dogs. They had a way of making you feel loved even when you felt like a loser.
"We're still going for a run," she said to the dog. Scotch's ears pricked up and the border-collie began inching away from her. She reached to drag him back by the collar when she heard her cell go off. Scotch took advantage of her surprise to shuffle out of the room as she whipped out her cell with a quick, "Rivera, here."
"I need you."
Lex's heart skipped a beat at the familiar greeting.
"Where?" She asked, somewhat lamely, still taken off guard at the suddenness of the call, instead of questions that had been bothering her all month.
"Lake Demeter. Be there in half an hour."
~*~
November 16
Lake Demeter
The last time she had seen Law he had been heavily sedated and laid up in a hospital bed.
From what the nurses told her he had had some sort of mental breakdown.
She had been discharged from the hospital before Law was deemed ready for visitors again but when she had tried visiting him she had been told that Law had expressly said he didn't want any visitors.
The chief placed her on leave for her to get proper mobility back. Emily, one of the Ladies in Forensics, offered to help her out but Lex politely declined. She wanted a bit of time alone too.
Officially, the crash was listed as an accident. Lex hadn't seen what hit them but she knew it hadn't been 'just a mistake' as had been suggested to her when she said it had been another vehicle. What were the large dents on the driver's side supposed to mean then? But it hadn't changed a thing. The people who suspected there was something more to the crash said nothing and the incident was neatly filed away to be forgotten.
Just like the Mary Clearwater case, which Murphy had told her was going to be labeled as a cold case soon.
It had almost been enough to have driven Lex to her own breakdown during the first week or two. She had wanted to talk to someone-anyone about the incident but the only person who had been as involved as she had was Law and he hadn't been available all month. Not only had he refused visitors and calls at the hospital but he hadn't picked up his cell or returned any of the voice messages she had left either. She had even called the prosecutor's office after hearing he had been discharged but all she had been told was that Law was on leave due to 'post-traumatic stress' of the 'accident' (God, she was starting to hate that word). Prosecutor Law had talked to her briefly about his son's recovery so she knew Law was in contact with someone at least but save that it had been as though he had dropped off the face of the earth.
Until now.
She spied him standing on the dock, staring out across the lake. She felt a flood of relief at actually seeing him up and alive again.
"Law!" Lex called.
He waved loosely in her direction, not turning to face her. It wasn’t until she came up beside him that she noticed it.
Law was balancing himself with a cane.
Her blood went cold. A month's resentment, regret, and guilt came rushing back.
Prosecutor Law had warned her about the damage but actually seeing it was a different beast altogether. It was almost enough to tear open the month's worth of hurts open all over again.
She caught herself gaping at him and quickly collected herself. Belatedly, she said, "You look better."
“Aside from the crippled leg?” Law spoke with an edge, as though challenging her to ask about it. She didn’t. There wasn’t a damn thing she could think to say. When she failed to respond, he waved his hand dismissively. “It's just another side effect of working in our dear city."
"It still shouldn't have happened." Lex forced herself not to look at his leg. "It's just...damn it, Law."
"It's just a side effect," he repeated shortly. "Look, I didn't call you out here to have a catharsis induced moment. This is business."
She unconsciously clenched a fist. He wasn't going to talk about it, fine. For both their sakes, she forced her usual casualness into her words, "I'm officially off-duty until next week."
"That's fine, this is unofficial."
"Exactly how 'unofficial'?" She asked. "What's this about, Law?"
"Bundy Quill is going to be tried in Los Angeles," he said tersely. "I'm going to be prosecuting it tomorrow."
"What?" Lex's eyes widened. "How the hell did that work?"
"It's complicated. The long short of it is though is it ended when I put in a request to handle it and they accepted."
"Seriously? I thought there was a lot of red tape to do something like that." The vagueness of Law's answer troubled her more than she hoped she was showing. "What’d the chief prosecutor say?”
“She was more than happy to waive the usual procedure,” Law snorted in derision. “She was drooling at the opportunity to have one our lawyers try out the jurist system. It's a chance for Chicago to be involved in the court of the future.”
Not that he cared. She could easily see this was the farthest thing from his mind except that it had helped him get what he...and what she wanted, to a degree: another shot at Bundy Quill.
"What'd they get him on?" Lex asked.
"First-degree murder, not that it matters." He passed her a manila envelope. "The details are inside."
Lex scanned it over the sheets inside, her fingers trembling slightly. Sure enough, the name 'Bundy Quill' was under the suspect data. She half-expected and half-dreaded to see another little girl under the victim data but it wasn't. It was a middle aged man. She flipped to the rest of the data the LAPD had currently put together. She looked over the data again and then repeated the process, trying to make sense out of every little detail they had on Bundy Quill and his relation to the murder. Looking over the data should have strengthened that flash of satisfaction she had felt when she first heard that Bundy could be convicted-as he deserved-but...
"Something's off," Lex frowned, for more reasons than one. As much as she wished the worst on Bundy part of her job was finding things that didn't fit and there were too many things that she couldn't just brush aside. "The circumstances don't feel right. The motive so far is money but Bundy was loaded. According to this it didn't look like he even tried to cover up the scene. It just doesn't make sense."
"Does it matter?" Law asked sharply. "That just makes things easier."
Lex just stared. Law had always been bothered when something seemed out of place in a case. He could be frustratingly nit picky at times but the times he hadn't he had at least shown some care about the inconsistencies. All she got from him now was an under current of tension.
"Mayor Quill's connections can't help Bundy this time," Law said. "He's stuck with the next best thing: hiring a good defense and praying like everyone else. It figures why he picked the guy he did too..."
"What's special about him?"
"Check page eighteen. He's some rising hotshot who debuted the jurist system last month. He used it to win a case and touch someone lack of evidence shouldn't have been able to. And he has hair pointy enough to be classified as a potential murder weapon."
Lex smirked a little at the last bit. It was good to see bits of the old Law again…even if it was only so much.
She flipped through the notes on the defense but what caught her attention was the circled section on wins and losses. “He hasn’t lost a case yet?”
“That and his link to the jurist system is probably what’s going through Quill’s head. Of course,” Law ground his cane into the wood, “records don’t prove actual ability. All it says about him is that he hasn't gotten a guilty verdict yet.”
"And you can give it to him."
"The defense has enough rope to hang itself. All it need is someone to be there to yank it."
He said the words casually enough but there was something else there that made Lex uneasy, just as she had been feeling that entire meeting.
"So then, that's it?" Lex asked, fiddling with her pony tail. "That's all you called me here for?"
Law regarded her with a thoughtful look. Then, he said lightly, "Rivera, you said you had family in the L.A. area before, right?"
“Loosely speaking I guess. They're just an hour or two away from the city."
He reached into his pocket and held out a plane ticket. "Would you be up to visiting them for a few days?"
Lex blinked twice. She glanced from the ticket to the man offering it to her and back. "Law...what the hell..."
"A ticket covering a round trip to Los Angeles," Law said calmly.
"I can see that but why are you giving me this?"
"Rivera, I need insurance when I go to Los Angeles and you're it."
"Insurance for what?" She demanded.
"In case the same crap that happened with Bundy happens again!" he snapped.
For a moment, all that could be heard was the sound of the water lapping underneath them.
"I can't afford to deal with that again," Law said quietly.
"You said it yourself, Bundy doesn't have much connections in L.A."
"Legally. But you can bet that 'accident' wasn't through legal connections."
"But, Law," she protested, "I have very limited connections there and if anyone at the precinct finds out I went to L.A. coincidentally at the same time as this trial or that I was looking around it could cause a lot of trouble."
"Is that what you're worried about?" Law asked disdainfully. "Your badge?"
"A little, yes!" Lex couldn't help the stab of guilt she felt when those words passed her lips, even more so when she saw the look of utter disappointment on Law's face. She quickly backpedaled, "I'm sorry."
"Don't be." He didn't spare her a glance as he walked by her. "I understand."
"Damn it, Law, that isn't what I meant!" He didn't stop walking until she crossed ahead of him and planted herself in his path, to which he narrowed his eyes. Lex took a calming breath and said, "Law, you called me out here after a month of closing yourself off and then sprang this on me out of nowhere. This isn't just about the badge. I honestly don't know what good I could be over there. I don't have influence, my connections are limited, and I'm sure that anything I can do the LAPD can do. I guess outside playing cheerleader I just don't see how much use I can be to you over there."
"Rivera," Law said slowly, "I need you. I need at least one person over there that I know I can trust for sure. You know people always work their hardest when they have a personal stake involved. I want someone with one equal to mine, someone who is willing to go as far as I am in handling this. That's the insurance I need."
He was looking at her with an expression she had never seen before. She was used to knowing Law looking untouched from everything. He’d smirk, laugh, make crack criticisms of everyone and everything but this…
It almost scared her as much as it mesmerized her.
She knew, deep down, Law didn’t care whether Bundy was guilty of this crime or not. This wasn’t about simply carrying out their job or just seeing where the end would lead to or any of his usual motives. This was pure and simple revenge.
The memory of Mary Clearwater’s un-avenged corpse flashed through her mind.
Then again, how much do I care?
Law held out the ticket again. "Are you in or not?"
This time Lex took it. “When’s the flight, sir?”
Turnabout to Tragedy-END