The night was darker and colder than it needed to be, or so Genevieve thought as she tightened her coat around her, shifted her backpack to a more comfortable position and stuffed her fingers into her thin jacket pockets. Her English class had gone exceptionally well, so well in fact that she thought she just might be a teacher after all. Student-teaching had initially been just another thing she had to do to graduate, but now she looked on it more favorably.
As she approached her car, Genevieve scanned the deserted streets for anyone or anything that should not be there. Having had a policeman for a father, Genevieve had developed a watchful eye early on in life. I’m paranoid, really, she thought in derision as she hurriedly dug her keys out of her pocket, anxious to get out of the icy wind. Having a policeman for a father had had its upsides, but mostly they had been downs. He had not been home much while she was growing up and the only character trait she thought she had inherited from him was his paranoia. I’m like one of those crazies on those silly crime shows… Except I don’t kill people.
Genevieve yanked open the door to the car she had lovingly dubbed Rusty. Dumping her backpack onto the backseat, the keys slipped out of her hands. Genevieve cursed.
Paranoid and clumsy, that’s lovely. Great resume, she thought bitterly as she hunched forward to retrieve her keys. Then something crunched on the ground behind her and she froze. Her last clear memory was the red bowling ball rolling slowly across the soggy snow.
***
Blood: it wasn’t a pleasant sight, regardless of the time of day. It was as unwelcomed at three in the afternoon as it was now at one in the morning. Particularly frozen blood, William Madden speculated as he squatted in the snow next to the abandoned car, which looked more like a rusty barrel than the Grand Prix that the VIN said it should be. The comment about the blood looking like a slushy hadn’t helped the matter and Will was fairly certain he’d never eat again. Stupid forensics guys, he thought angrily, how they can be so insensitive is beyond me.
The body had long ago been taken to a lab for further inspection and Will was one of the few police left on the scene. Most of the men and women still roaming around were either forensics or reporters, and it was hard to know which type he disliked more. The only thing that could mess up a crime scene more than forensic compilers were the media hounds.
And profilers, they’re always trying to make something out of nothing, Will thought as he chewed the inside of his lip and tried to ignore the biting wind. Even though he was only 28 years old, he’d already had his fair share of psychologists and not just criminal profilers, either. He hadn’t even been able to stomach the therapists he had been forced to see as a child after his parents had disappeared.
“Madden, the Chief wants you,” Jay, his shorter than average partner and best friend stood above him, momentarily shielding Will from the icy wind.
Will stood, slapping his gloves against his right knee as he did so, “Thanks, Jay.”
“I don’t like this. At all,” Jay was saying.
“It’s murder, Jay; you’re not supposed to like it.” Will could not keep the sarcasm from his voice, and immediately regretted having done so: Jay was a good and loyal friend and partner.
Jay glared at him, his dark eyes angry, “That’s not exactly what I was referring to.”
“Then what were you referring to?” Will blew out all his breath in an attempt to be civil.
Jay turned away, “Chief’ll tell you.”
Will followed his partner over to where the Chief stood, barking orders and ignoring the press as much as possible.
“I already gave a statement,” Chief said, brushing aside the microphone that a particularly persistent reporter had thrust in his face.
“Chief.”
“Ah, Will,” the Chief smiled as he turned away from the microphone. “Walk with me.”
Will followed without a word, Jay on his heels.
As soon as they had settled into the squad car, safely out of the wind and cold, the Chief spoke, “Look,boys, I know this case should be yours, but I’m giving it to someone else.”
Jay’s eyes flicked towards Will, but he ignored him, stubbornly, “Why, sir?”
“Because this is not just ‘a case’, so to speak,” said the Chief. “Did you not notice the bowling ball? This is either a very well plotted and carried out copycat or you-know-who is back.”
Will felt Jay’s eyes on him once more and knew immediately what Jay had disliked so much. He waited for the Chief to continue.
It wasn’t the Chief who had anything to say, however, it was Jay: “So who is taking the case, then?”
“The people who investigated it before, the ones already familiar with him,” said the Chief.
“But I thought that they quit,” said Will slowly.
The Chief shook his head. “Didn’t quit; they’re just doing something new now.”
Jay frowned. “They’re Feds now, aren’t they?”
The Chief nodded.
Jay sighed. “Well, I’m heading home, then.” He put a hand on the door. “Will, you’ll brief ‘em?”
Will nodded. “Sure.”
Jay left, leaving Will feeling disgusted and angry. This might have been his chance to show some of the older, more experienced cops that he knew what was what, but they were handing this case on to someone else.
“Will?” said the Chief, pulling him out of his thoughts.
“Sir?”
“It’s okay; you can call me Grandpa now.”
Will squirmed but didn’t answer. Didn’t the Chief realize that this was the root of the problem? Being the boss’s grandson had automatically caused everyone to think that the only reason he had gotten this job was because he already had a foot in the door.
“Look,” said the Chief. “He’s going to be here soon.”
“I thought there were two of them.”
“There were two of ‘em… I don’t know if they’re both coming though.”
“Right,” said Will. He turned towards the window of the car and scowled.
The Chief reached out a gnarled hand and rested it on Will’s shoulder. “Will, I want you to help them; be the personal liaison as far as communicating with the police goes. It can be a way to break your wings in, so to speak.”
Will nodded, but barely managed to contain a snort, Right, not even Gramps thinks I could handle a case like this by myself.
“It may not be the most ideal of circumstances, but it’ll have to do. If this is who we think it is, it’ll be best for everyone involved to have these two back on his trail, and if it’s deemed to be a copycat, then you can have the case back.”
Will nodded again. “I understand, sir.” He glanced out the squad car door to see a large, black SUV pull up.
The Chief opened the door. “They’re here.” He glanced back at Will and seemed to notice the frustration on his grandson’s face. “Look, this will be good experience for you. I’m trying to help you out.”
“That’s the problem. You’re always helping me out. I need to do some things for myself.”
The Chief sighed. “If I do too much for you, it’s ‘cause I love you, Will…like I loved your parents.”
“Sure, sure,” said Will, scrambling out of the squad car. He stuffed his hands into his jacket pockets and hurried to the SUV which had just parked.
Just then the door started to open and Will quickly stepped out of the way. A man emerged, but it was too dark to make out any distinct features other than the fact that he and Will were nearly the same height. Will at 6’2’’ stood perhaps an inch taller. The man moved smoothly and carefully giving Will the impression that he was meticulous in his every action, but there was also a recklessness in the way he lively stepped out of the vehicle. To Will, these attributes added up to a person who he would never mess with. The fact that this man was also a Fed just reinforced this notion.
Will extended his hand, “I’m Detective Will Madden, and you are?”
The man, instead of returning the greeting, walked quickly past Will and towards the crime tape, calling over his shoulder as he went, “Don’t you just hate SUVS?”
Will turned and followed, feeling unsettled.
“I’m Special Agent Feud. As long as we’re identifying ourselves with such formality, I thought I’d toss the ‘special’ in there.” Special Agent Feud was now standing in front of the victim’s car, apparently examining it.
Will approached and stood next to him, “Very well, Special Agent.” The sarcastic tone was there and Will couldn’t help it.
For some reason, the sarcasm seemed to deeply amuse Special Agent Feud, who turned away with a smirk. A serious look crossed his face as he caught sight of the bowling ball near the driver’s door.
Special Agent Feud squatted and stared at the bowling ball for what seemed millennia, a look on his face that Will found completely troubling. Special Agent Feud slowly stood, an angry look on his face.
“Well? Is it him?” Will found himself asking. So what if he was rushing? He was angry, tired, cold, and hungry.
Special Agent Feud’s face was ashen. “Dust the ball for prints. If it’s him, the only fingerprints to be found will be his victim’s. If it’s clean, he’s changed his MO.” He turned and walked back to the SUV.
“Hey!” Will called after him. “Couldn’t it just be a copycat?”
Special Agent Feud paused mid-step, then turned and sauntered back towards Will.
Will couldn’t help but glare at him.
“Why?”
“Why, what?” Will snapped.
“Why copycat this? Why now?” Special Agent Feud gestured, the breadth of his arm taking in the entire scene.
“A question like that presumes that I understand the criminal mind. I’m not a profiler. I’m more interested in the crime than the criminal,” Will responded tersely, disliking Special Agent Feud more and more.
Special Agent Feud crossed his arms. “Details such as some of those clearly present on this scene were never released to the public. Whoever did this either knows the original killer or he is the killer. It’s as simple as that.” He turned and headed back to the SUV again.
“What details?” Will shouted after him, attracting attention from some of the straggler reporters. His anger had made him reckless, and he ignored both the reporters and the fact that he had attracted their attention.
“You’re one of the public, Detective Madden, clearly,” Special Agent Feud replied tersely, turning towards him again.
Will stalked towards him. “Look, I don’t care how far on the outside of this case you think I am, but I am part of this case now! Meaning I know everything, past, present and future. Keeping me out of the loop would be a mistake on your part.”
He and Special Agent Feud now stood nose-to-nose and Will glared at him.
“Fair enough,” Special Agent Feud now murmured. “Start over, shall we?”
He held out his hand. “Special Agent Dryden Feud, at your service. You can call me Dryden, but the people who value their limbs call me Feud.”
Will nodded and shook his hand. “Most people call me Will.”
“Well, perhaps you can compel your forensics team to dust the bowling ball for prints.”
“I can do that.”
“I’m to see your Chief in the morning. Incidentally, Madden is not a shared name by coincidence, is it?”
“He’s my grandfather.” Why is that always the first thing people notice?
“Ah.” Feud yanked open the door to the SUV. “Agent Bittner has not arrived yet, I assume?”
“No.”
Feud stepped inside the vehicle and it seemed to Will that he had lost the vitality he once had. His face was drawn and ashen, the spring in his step gone. “I’ll see you tomorrow, then, Will.”
Will nodded and shut the door to the SUV. Well, at least that’s over with, Will thought as he stalked back over to the crime scene. A reporter was approaching him and he ignored her, sidestepping her and continuing his journey. “Greenly?”
The forensic scientist hurried towards him. “Yes?”
“Dust the ball for prints.”
Greenly gave him a quizzical look, but without a word, he went back to the forensics van.
Will squatted and stared at the bowling ball. How could it be that the only thing Feud had paid attention to was the bowling ball? Am I the only one who cares about the human life that was taken this morning? I suppose detaching oneself from the fact that someone did such a heinous thing to another human is a coping mechanism. Will stood. One thing is certain; this man took this way too far. Nine; nine victims. Nine innings, nine bowling pins. Will glanced over his shoulder to where the SUV was just pulling away. Is that really what this is, just a game to him? A game of bowling? But, if it’s just the victim’s prints on the ball, is that supposed to signify that they died at their own hand? Will shook his head and thought cynically as he headed back to his truck, For someone who hates psychology, I sure take a lot of stock in it.
Greenly approached him. “The ball’s been dusted. We’re waiting for the results now.”
“Thanks, Greenly,” Will said, and meant it.
Greenly was frowning and seemed to be having difficulty with saying something. “So, nine victims, then?”
“Nine.” Will nodded. “At least we know he’s reached his goal.”
“Goal?”
Will crossed his arms and leaned against his truck, “The bowling ball. Nine pins. Nine victims.”
“…there are ten pins in a bowling game,” The horrific realization etched itself across Greenly’s face.
Will felt his insides grow cold. He’s not done.
***
Will woke up in a daze and glanced at his alarm clock which was flashing, beeping and doing what alarm clocks do best: annoying people out of much needed sleep. Swearing mentally, Will rolled off the futon that he had crashed on four hours earlier without even bothering to unfold it and went directly to the kitchenette to make coffee, shutting the alarm off as he passed. The kitchen was cluttered with dirty dishes and piles of mail that he had only had the presence of mind to actually bring inside and not open and sort. Will shoved aside a pile of mail to make a place for himself at the table and the magazine at the top of the pile fell to the floor with an irritating splat. Will grudgingly bent to pick it up but quickly tossed it at the heaping trash bin when he caught sight of the cover: it advertised the opening of a bowling alley. His answering machine was flashing a big, red number 8 at him, but Will didn’t have the heart to deal with the recordings. He scooped the coffee grounds into the filter and started the maker, then went to his bedroom to get ready for the day, unplugging the alarm clock and taking it with him. Half an hour later found him freshly showered, dressed, coffeed up and en route to the police station for his meeting with Gramps and Feud and in a much better mood.
“You’re late,” Janice, the desk clerk, greeted him as he walked through the lobby doors.
“Thanks, Janice, it’s nice to see you, too.”
Janice smirked at his tart reply, “He’s waiting.”
Will headed towards his grandfather’s office, quickly and instinctively taking in his surroundings: two perps sat on the bench near the desk, cuffed and scowling. Jogging up the stairs, he met Angus O’Hara, his grandfather’s oldest friend and longtime partner before he had been named Chief.
“William!” Angus’s booming voice could be heard throughout the station, naturally. Will sighed, knowing that it would have drawn the attention of anyone within shouting distance. Angus’s voice was wonderful during interrogations when they were trying to intimidate an answer out of someone, but when trying to discreetly and quietly hold a private conversation, one might as well have announced it to the world via foghorn.
“Hi, Angus,” Will forced a smile and accepted the firm handshake.
“How are you, lad?”
“Oh, you know,” Will shrugged, putting his hands in his pockets, and stepped to the side so a sergeant who was clearly in a hurry could step past without knocking them both down the stairs.
“That right?” Angus didn’t believe him. That was the difficult thing about working with cops: it was nearly impossible to evade a question because they could read you like a book.
Will started up the stairs again, “I’ll tell you about it later.”
Angus stopped him, “You going to see your grandfather, lad?”
“Yes, and I’m very late,” Will started up the stairs again, his good mood gone. There’s no chance that conversation’s just going to stay between the two of us.
***
Sometimes Sam thought that the only thing being a cop had taught her was how to answer a phone in the middle of the night after being woken up from a sound sleep. It was an art, to be sure. Reaching out from underneath the warm covers, actually picking up the phone in one movement rather than flailing like a fish out of water, or accidentally knocking it to the ground, actually putting the correct part of the phone to your ear so you could hear whatever emergency was calling you from home this time. Tonight was no exception. Even though she was no longer at an “on-call” status with the Bureau, it was as if it was an instinct. Phone rings, you answer, no matter what time of day, no matter who it was, or what they were asking. No matter how surprising. After the phone call this morning, she had quickly showered, dressed, packed, and booked her flight. Nothing could have prepared her for that phone call. A simple phone call had never propelled her out of bed so fast. Sam closed her eyes, utilizing the headrest, as the plane began to taxi down the runway. I might as well get some sleep now… No telling when I’ll rest well again. But her body would not rest. Instead her mind continually played that conversation over and over in her head until she thought she could scream.
“Dryden?”
“Do you have some vacation time you could use? Or could you request some?”
“Dryden, what’s going on? Why are you calling me now?” She was sitting up in bed, struggling to turn on the lamp.
“He’s back, Sam.”
Those words haunted her now, “He’s back, Sam.” She hated that she knew before he told her details. She knew who “he” was, she knew what he was doing, and she knew he had to be stopped.
Charles Leger found himself staring at a blank screen. Stupid snowstorm, he thought, grudgingly, as he shoved the keyboard aside and got to his feet. At least he had thought to save his work to a memory card this time. It seemed like this research was going to be his focus the rest of his life. Or the death of me. Charlie rubbed his face, tiredly, and glanced at his wristwatch. Time for shuteye. He reached out and grabbed the flashlight off of the bookcase and headed to his bedroom. He had not been sleeping for very long when he got the phone call.
“This is Leger.” He muttered, hoarsely into the phone.
“Charlie, it’s Jay.”
“Jay, what’s kicking, man?”
“You mean besides my kid?”
“Well, you’re wife’s, what, five months along? Figured he’d be kicking by now.” Charlie tiredly rubbed his eyes.
“We don’t know that it’s a boy, yet, Charlie.”
“You don’t know that it’s not.”
“We won’t until the delivery day.”
“I know, I know.” Charlie glanced at his bedside clock. Oh, good, power’s back.
“Look, I didn’t just call for a social chat.”
“If you had called for a social chat at 3 in the morning, Jay, I’d have to reconsider being little Charlie’s godfather.”
Jay laughed, then sobered up quickly, “It ain’t good, Charlie.”
“Fill me in on the details?”
“Not on this line. Can you be at the station soon?”
“I can be there in half an hour.”
“Thanks, Charlie, see you soon. Say, how’s that research thing going?”
“The one about cops with A-type personalities that may or may not end up criminally inclined and get away with it because they’re brilliant?”
“…..yeah?”
“It’s good.”
“Am I—“
“No, Jay, you are not included, nor will you ever be.”
“I don’t know if I should be insulted or pleased.”
Charlie laughed, “Goodbye, Jay.” He hung up, quickly showered and dressed, and grabbed a bagel as he passed through the kitchen into the garage.
***
Jay Hume flipped his cell phone shut and tossed it on his desk, knocking over an empty, disposable cup. Ignoring that as well as the various other disposable cups and food wrappers that cluttered his desk, Jay reached over and flicked the power button on his desktop computer. As he waited for the machine to power up, he snatched one of the many cups off his desk and went down the hall to the coffee machine that the station kept constantly filled. After pouring a cup, Jay stalked back to the office just as Will hurried in the door just in front of him.
“Hey, long night?”
Will looked quite hassled as he hurried to his desk which was on the opposite side of the office of Jay’s. Without looking up from his desk, Will mumbled, “Got in about 3. Right after I called you.”
Jay nodded, “Charlie’s coming to help out.”
Will looked up and fixed Jay with a glare, “You called Charlie? Why?”
“I know we could use the help, especially with the Feds coming in. A murder case is the last place we need territorial disputes.”
“Which explains why you called a psychologist? I hate psychology.”
“Hey, Charlie’s the least psychologist-like psychologist I know.”
“The man profiles his cat!” Will dropped a folder onto his desk with a resounding splat.
“You’re making that up.”
Will held up a hand, “Scout’s honor.”
“You were only a cub. That doesn’t count.”
Will shoved his drawer shut, “Fine, but I’m not talking to him. He’ll just go all, “The real reason you scowl all the time is because of the angst you feel in regards to being partners with a man who is far better looking than you are. Ergo, you scowl and create a mystery about yourself so you can overcompensate and have a Byronic hero-esque aura about you.”’
“I’m surprised you memorized that whole thing.”
“We’re late.”
Will grabbed the file off Jay’s desk and led the way to the Chief’s office.
***
Can a man and a woman really be “just friends”? The question had haunted Sam for as long as she could remember. Of course, her capacity to remember had spun to a definite halt during that one phone call. Sam had always paid an exorbitant amount of attention to detail, often thinking on nothing else until her current obsession was complete. This was both a blessing and a curse. It had helped her solve many crimes, that’s for sure. But it was also at the root of Sam and Dryden’s partnership fiasco. That’s how he works. He knows his victims. He knew he didn’t have to kill Dryden and me. Her eyes drifted to him again, for what seemed the umpteenth time. Objectively speaking, he was still the oddest looking man she had ever known. And the most handsome. Even Will Madden, with his muscular build, strong chin, and strikingly-dark eyes, could not compete with Dryden’s thin frame, angular features, and those piercingly-blue eyes. Jay Hume was also built like a football player. Really, he and Will looked enough alike to be brothers. They are brothers, genes aside. You can’t help but be close in work like ours.
“Isn’t that right, Sam?”
The question startled her out of her reverie. “Huh?”
“That’s right, isn’t it?”
Every pair of eyes, except Dryden’s, was trained on her, waiting for a response.
“I’m sorry.” She flushed. “I wasn’t paying attention.”
“This is your briefing, you know, Agent Bittner.” The Chief’s tone of voice was more than a little annoyed.
Of course, Mr. Neat Desk would be irritated by that. He was irritated by many things, including Dr. Leger’s incessant tapping of a pencil on his thigh, and Detective Hume’s tendency to bounce his knee while sitting. Detective Madden and Dryden were the only ones who sat perfectly still; Madden with an intense, pained expression on his face, Dryden with that typical “I’m-thinking-about-things-you-wouldn’t-understand” look.
He wouldn’t even glance at her. He had been staunchly and very obviously avoiding eye contact. He talked to and answered the Chief; he was condescending to Detective Madden, he laughed with Detective Hume, and was sarcastic with Dr. Leger, but he wouldn’t even look at her. She gripped the arms of the chair, hoping it would keep her focus on the briefing, but to no avail; her mind would not stop racing. She and Dryden had once been as good of friends as Detective Hume and Detective Madden obviously were, but the way he was acting now made it seem like they were never friends at all. How has it come to this?
***
She was a newbie on the force when they had met; he already had several years of experience under his belt. Not as a cop, though. He had worked as a freelance detective for some time. He’d only joined the force because of a dare.
There was tension between them to begin with. All of the typical stuff, of course: he thought she was too young. The heartache of a painful breakup did everything but make her feel like a young woman with the whole world at her feet.
She, on the other hand, thought he was too old. He was five years her senior but acted like he was much older, calling her “kid” every chance he got. But as she had always had a habit of making the most unlikely people her friends, it was not too long before, tension behind them, they truly developed not only a friendship, but a working relationship. But, it was not to last.
***
Jay couldn’t help but feel moderately in awe of the perp. He had somehow managed to kill nine victims without being caught. But awe wasn’t his only emotion. In fact, it was the secondary emotion, because it was his anger that was making him pay attention to every minute detail as SA Feud relayed the case file to the room, in that detached voice that Jay somehow knew indicated a deeply emotional connection to this case. The appearance of detachment was just that: an appearance. The only ones who had lost more than the victims and their families in this case were SAs Feud and Bittner. They didn’t just get under each other’s skin; the perp got under it, too. That does not bode well for us.
“It wasn’t about the girls, it was about power,” Sam, who had evidently started paying attention again, said, her voice firm and controlled. “As you can see,” she said as she gestured to the cork board that was scattered with the victims’ photos, “there is no real pattern in who he chose as victims.”
Jay looked at the board again. It was only too true: the victims ranged from young, blonde, and attractive, to elderly, gray-haired has-beens.
Charlie was pinning up the picture of the latest victim: Genevieve Watson. Young, red haired, smiling; a grad student with the world at her feet. Vibrant and alive. Now, dead.
“So, why Genevieve, then?” Will said from his corner of the room, also studying the board.
SA Feud fielded that question. “The question is, why not Genevieve?”
Will’s eyes flashed over to Feud wearing their “I’m going to enjoy tackling you” look that Jay had gotten very familiar with, both from football camp in high school and police interrogations. “I’d just like an idea of what to expect.”
“Expect the unexpected,” Charlie said helpfully.
“Oh, great, words of wisdom from the quack,” Will retorted, rolling his eyes.
“It’s sound advice,” Jay informed his partner. “Especially in this business.”
“I’m not concerned with advice, Jay,” Will spat out, his teeth gritted. “I’m concerned with who might be next.”
“There is no possible way of ascertaining that,” SA Feud said, his tone still detached. “He was unpredictable before and he remains so.”
“Even more so, actually,” Charlie nodded, moving back to his chair. “I vaguely remember the conversations at the time. Not a one of my colleagues predicted that he’d make a comeback.”
“And the Mighty Quacks strike again,” Will muttered under his breath.
“Was that a joke, Detective Madden? From you?” Sam’s smile was dazzling. “That was unexpected.”
“Exactly my point!” Will said emphatically, looking at the Chief, obviously feeling vindicated. “Profilers do nothing but make guesses, and half the time they’re wrong!”
“Are you trying to convince me or yourself, Will?” The Chief was not amused.
“I still have those volleyballs in my office,” Charlie murmured.
“Oh, for the love of Pete!” SA Feud sounded about as exasperated as Jay expected it was possible for him. “Will doesn’t like profilers; the Chief does. I knew that the minute we walked into this room. Now can we just get on with it?”
“The love of Pete?” Charlie raised an eyebrow. “Who loves Pete?”
Will got to his feet. “You can’t just know something like that. Someone must have told you.”
“No one had to tell me,” SA Feud returned, still in his seat, obviously unimpressed by the threat Will posed to his physical safety. Jay, who had been on the receiving end of too many angry-Will punches, eagerly waited to see what would happen next. “I knew from the moment we entered. Just like you and your partner, and I imagine even the Chief, knew that Sam and I were once intimate.”
Will’s mouth fell open in shock. Sam flushed red from her forehead down to her ears, Charlie gave a quiet nod, as did the Chief. Jay found his own lips twitching into a smirk.
“That is beside the point,” Will stammered.
“Is it? How so?” SA Feud asked, his tone a flat out snub and an ‘amuse me’ all at the same time. “They’re both elephants in the room, are they not? Sam and I dated, you hate psychology, Jay apparently has lost the ability to sit still—oh, for the love of God, would you stop moving?!”
Embarrassed, Jay realized that he was bouncing his knees again. “Sorry.” He forced himself to sit still. I bet the Chief is wishing he had never put us up to this.
SA Feud put his hands to his temples, closing his eyes, very obviously shutting everyone else out.
Sam stared at him, a disgusted look on her face.
And to think that she once loved him. Jay thought fleetingly.
“I am here to work on this case,” SA Feud stated, eyes still shut tight. “I am not here to hold hands and sing around the campfire, or to recover the remnants of a lost relationship. And you can bet that I am not here to make friends.” He said the word ‘friends’ as if it were displeasing to him.
“I couldn’t agree more,” Charlie said, setting the box of push pins aside.
SA Feud got to his feet and stalked to the door, his trench coat billowing about him theatrically. “Doctor Leger.”
“Call me Charlie.”
“I will not now, nor ever, call you Charlie.”
“Fair enough.”
The two left the room, one after the other.
Will still stood, fuming. Sam sat, trying to recover her good composure. The Chief was the only one who looked comfortable.
“I don’t know whether to punch him or applaud him,” Jay finally spoke, breaking the stunned silence.
“Yes,” Sam agreed. “He seems to have that effect on people.”
“He can make one hell of an exit, though,” Jay smirked.
Sam sighed, putting her hand to her eyes. “You have no idea.”