Smoke and Mirrors

[Dreamfire]

Smoke and Mirrors

December 2005

“See you tomorrow, Dunbar.” Marty alternated his words with a bounce of the basketball he had brought in after lunch – a present for his kid. Jim would be very happy not having to put up with that distraction ever again.

“See you, Marty. Hey, what time does the Lieutenant come in for this thing tomorrow?” Jim looked up from packing away his computer.

“He’s usually in around 10am for reviews. He’s pretty brutal, Jim. You two better pull something spectacular outta that DeVries case or it’ll be put on ice for sure.”

“Shut up, Marty, you worry about your own cases, we can look after ours.” Karen plonked at her desk, dropping files that then slid to the floor. “See you tomorrow.”

“Bye, Karen. Bye, Jim.” Marty dribbled the basketball out of the squad and into the elevator.

Jim swung his chair around to Karen’s desk. “How bad is he razzing me, Karen?”

“Not that bad, unfortunately. Tom and Marty will be in pretty early going over their cool cases. You didn’t have these reviews at your last precinct?”

“No. Cases were held or dropped as we went. Mostly the lead detective’s call, but it was never an issue.”

“Yeah well, here it’s like mock court. You gotta make a case as to why you should keep it going.” Karen was leaning on his desk. He picked up a sweet smell, quite different from her usual perfume, and a sound he struggled to identify…

“You eating ice cream again?”

“Mmmm, choc chip, you want some?”

“No.” Jim shook his head. When she heard about the review, Karen had started eating ice cream like most people drank coffee. Stress relief? Pregnant? He didn’t dare ask directly.

“You worried DeVries might get shelved?”

“We gotta face it, there’s a good chance it will...” She shifted something on his desk and perched on it.

“Then we’ll get to work.” Jim pulled his computer back out of his case.

“Now?”

“If you wanna work on it, now’s the best time.”

“Damn.” Karen’s sigh was audible.

~

“…Jane Doe from School Supplies, the shooting near the river. Are any of these cases you want to keep on the board?” Jim finished repeating the list of their unsolved cases after his computer read them out. There was some sort of mumble around her ice cream that he took for a no.

“In that case, I have nothing, other than DeVries. So it’s the only one we have to do, but it’s a hairy one.”

Karen hopped off the desk. “I’ll just gather all the relevant files and dump these others.”

Jim nodded and picked up the phone. “I’ll just call Christie.”

~

Karen dumped another armful of files into Jim’s hands and he placed it on the spare desk in front of his. “That’s all there are.”

Jim slid his fingers along the spines of the files and looked puzzled. “Are you sure?” He picked up the top file and rifled through with his fingers.

“This isn’t enough for us to do tonight?” Karen sounded tired and cheesed off. He thought about asking if he’d done something to piss her off but shelved that idea.

Maybe he could suggest she go home and he finish this on his own. No, wouldn’t work, even with his scanner burning rubber all night he wouldn’t be able to get through all those reports. It was easier to ignore the glares he couldn’t see. Besides, this was still officially her case. “Well, unless they’re on your desk or somewhere else, we’re missing seven files, including the very first one.”

“Ah…”

“What?”

“Ah, I don’t mean to be rude, Jim, but how would you know?”

He pursed his lips, even when it was innocent, being underestimated was still painful.

“And how do you know that the first one’s missing?” Karen still sounded sceptical as she turned pages in the report.

Jim chewed his lip. “I’ll make you a deal, if the file is here and I’m wrong, I’ll tell you why I thought it was missing. If not, you have to work it out.”

“Deal. But I would rather have wagered with ice cream. Hold this.”

Jim found a large tub of ice cream in one hand and a spoon in the other. Karen grumbled under her breath while she re-checked the files. “OK, smartass, it’s not here. Are you going to give me a clue?”

“No. You got a second spoon?” Jim’s face was impassive. The ice cream swiftly disappeared from his hands and Karen left his desk. He grinned and picked up the phone.

“… so we’ll have to search the archives? … Our codes will get us in? … Yes, we’ll find them, if you’re sure you can’t spare anyone to help us look.” He replaced the phone. “Damn.” This was going to be a long night.

“Karen?”

“Here.”

“Data Review is backlogged, getting files for all the reviews. They said we have all the current files for this case. For anything else we’ll have to head down and look in the old part of the archives for ourselves. And the elevators are out of order again.”

~

She refused to relinquish her ice cream tub for the trip to the Data Files, pointing out that ice cream above a certain temperature was actually a smoothie by definition and she wasn’t in the mood for a smoothie. She sounded exasperated, like a teenager explaining something obvious to her parents. As they traversed the corridors and stairs leading down to archives in the belly of the station, Jim wondered how old she was. He’d never really thought about it before but sometimes… “Karen, how old are you? And don’t make me guess. I’ll just end up in the bad books.”

She took ages to answer him. Maybe she had her mouthful; maybe she was mad at him for asking. He had no idea. “I’m 23.”

He stopped, her arm sliding out of his grasp. “How…”

“Before you ask, I don’t look so young, no, I look about 30. And I was a bit of a wiz at school, so I got through high school a couple a years early and college was a breeze. I spent my regulation time in uniform and went for Detective as soon as they let me.”

“Wow.” He caught up and they walked on.

“We’re here. You gotta code for this thing?”

“Sure.” Jim reached out and she pushed his hand to the keypad. He entered his 16 digit code. “Don’t you have one?”

“Sure, I just always forget it.” Sounded like she was back into the ice cream. A wiz who couldn’t remember 16 digits? Jim just let the topic go.

Once inside they shut the gate and Jim waited while Karen looked for the files. With the numbering system at this squad it was pretty easy. “I found ‘em. You better come and help.” Jim followed her voice into the maze.

“You want me to hold your ice cream again?” Jim teased.

“Not enough left for two now. Anyhow, I need you to pull these boxes down and carry them. Here.” She took hold of his wrist and put his hand up above his head on the side of the archive box she wanted.

He tugged and hefted, it sure was full. “Boxes, there’s more than one? Are these just files or evidence too?”

“Ah, I’ll just use my X-ray vision and tell you.” Her words were biting but her tone was playful.

The boxes were very heavy, hard to move, there must have been more boxes stacked on top. He needed better leverage. “Are there any of those stepladders around?”

“No, you’ll have to just yank it out, I think.” She was back into the ice cream, standing a few feet away watching him, by the sounds of it.

He pulled and tugged and got the bottom box free of whatever had been snagging it. “Got it.” It came flying out, the box on top thudded onto the shelf and Jim got a faceful of dust. Stepping back quickly he just managed to save the first box from a tumble to the floor. He held it out and she took it from him and placed it on the floor with a thump.

“Don’t forget the other one.”

He reached up. “This is the right one?”

“Mmm –hmm.”

This one came easier but was no lighter than the first. Holding it securely in both arms he turned to her, surprised when she dropped the first box on top in front of his face. “Karen, I…”
.
“What, you can’t see past it?” Karen’s tone was still light but Jim was confused. What was up with her? Had she changed bodies with Marty while he wasn’t watching? She stood behind him and gave him a little push. “This way, I’ll steer.”

A few steps later his knee hit something and it went skittering away, doing no damage to his knee, but making the path before him more uncertain. He stopped. “What was that?”

“What? Oh, that? One of those step thingies.”

He took a few more steps and stopped, this was unnerving. “Hey, Karen? How about you steer from up front.”

No answer. A moment later she brushed past him. He felt her tug at his sleeve again and followed.

“We’re back at the gate. Hang on.” He heard her input 16 digits, the tones chimed a different code to his own.

“You remember your code now?”

“Yep.”

She took him on a precarious journey up the stairs, and back to the squad. Her early warnings of landings seemed slower than usual and he contemplated the huge difference in sensory input between being pushed from behind, dragged by a sleeve and holding an arm. Before he’d been blinded, he would never have thought there would be much difference. He must remember to thank Karen some time for her guiding and let her know what it meant. OOF! His shoulder whacked something solid and he brought his attention away from his musings and back fully into navigating the unfamiliar corridors.

~

He was quiet surprised at the relief he felt when he deposited the file boxes on the desk in front of his. He made a mental note to take Hank next time Karen was on an ice cream binge - even if it was just down to the files.

They stood together at the desk covered in files. “Now, we sort ‘em out, and go through them one by one and collect our reasons for holding on to the case.” She sounded really down.

“The ice cream didn’t help huh?”

“What are you talking about?”

“Karen, will you tell me what’s going on? You’re bingeing on ice cream like it’s a cure for what ails you. Are you missing an important date tonight or have I done something to piss you off again?”

“No! And why would you think you’d pissed me off?”

Jim shrugged; he did not want to start accusing her of being inattentive all of a sudden. “Our trip to the files - I just got the idea you were mad or distracted. I can’t tell which.”

She sighed, started sifting files and then he heard her land heavily in his chair. “I hadn’t realised that first file was missing, and then you had to insist we go find it, and now we have to get into this case all over again.”

Jim nodded. This he understood; a case that seemed personal, even if it wasn’t and one that wasn’t going where they needed it to go.

“So why this one Karen? What’s got you so attached to this one?”

“Jim? It was a whole container load of people. Like you said, a can of people. I’ve seen a lot of things since becoming a cop, but a can of people?

“Little girls, little boys, young men and women. And the one, the one making the drawing? When I was growing up, I had a best friend. She went missing when we were about 9. Just went missing, no clue. No one ever found her. She looked like that. Blonde curls, pretty, just like that.”

“And now you feel?”

“And I guess I feel the same hopelessness, the same powerlessness. Like we’ll never solve this.”

She was up again, over at the window now, still talking. “I guess, without thinking about it, I was hoping the Lieutenant would pull it from us. You just seemed as… detached as ever so I know, no matter what it takes, this case will stay on our boards and I’ll have to remember…”

He moved up behind her, reached over slowly and found her shoulders, he squeezed them gently. His voice was soft, “It’s your case, Karen. Do you want to let this case go?”

She turned to face him, her eyes searching for contact. “Have you ever felt like this, Jim? Like you know what you have to do? You just don’t want to but you know you have to?”

He smiled sadly. “Sam Berglass’ abuse case, that kindergarten case a few years back. There’s been a few.”

“That kindergarten spree was yours?”

“Yeah. Took three years, but me and my partner, we nailed it.”

“Well, with you and me on this case then, DeVries’ got no chance of hiding forever.”

“Atta girl, Karen. You know, it’ll get easier as you get older, too.”

Jim shifted back into case mode. “First point. Fisk will want to know who we want to collar for what, right?”

“Yep. This Stephan DeVries. We want to collar him for the deaths of the people in the container we found at the docks.”

Jim nodded. “Nice and clear, bypasses the fact we still have no bodies. Motive?”

“I can speculate but I have no evidence.”

“Then we have to distract him from that too.”

Karen groaned.

Wait,” Jim held up his hand. “How many other collars we made, stemming from this?”

“The Italian competition, maybe 6. Bits and pieces, 4 maybe.”

“And it’s only the Lieutenant we have to convince?”

“Yes.”

“Well, he likes nothing more than collars right? And this case has brought him several of those…”

“So even if it’s not the one we’re looking for, you think he’ll go for it as long as we keep getting collars?” Karen finished his thought.

Jim nodded. “Then you gotta go through the collars we got so far and then go into these files.” He patted the stack on the desk. “And pull how each one came out of this case.”

Karen sighed. “Me? What happened to me and my partner a few minutes ago?”

“You start at the last one and go backward, probably easier that way, I’ll start with the first file, refresh the case itself and move forward. I’ll meet you somewhere in the middle.”

He could feel Karen’s gaze on his face. They both knew it would take him far longer to scan the files than it would for her to look through them. They’d probably meet at file two or three.

“Anyhow you deserve to have to do the first one, since you were so keen to go find it.”

Jim nodded. It was a good trade. It was easier for him to recall that day. He didn’t have the images in his head that she did.

Jim held out his hand and she deposited a file in it. He pushed his hand inside and rifled through the pages. “Karen?” He held the file back out to her.

“What?” She was trying to sound innocent.

“This isn’t file one.” He could hear her rifling through the file. He smiled; she was still trying to figure out how he knew. She had handed him the wrong file to see how he checked it’s ID. No clue, now she was looking herself. The page turning stopped.

“Oh, the drawings.”

“Elementary, my dear Watson, elementary.” Jim tried for the lightness of a few moments ago. She replaced the file in his hand with the real one, more gruesome and nowhere near as light, and sat down opposite him. Soon he could hear her scratching notes as she compiled the evidence needed to keep the case alive.

Jim slid the summary page into his scanner and settled into his chair.

Truth was he knew this file backward. He would have known it, even if that child’s drawing hadn’t been misfiled in this folder months ago. DeVries was French mafia, smaller, more targeted than the Italians, but worse in his own way. He dealt in three things: human organs, contracts for disappearance, and white slaves. There had been no known harvesting of organs in the district. Disappearance contracts didn’t leave a body like assassination did. It was the last category that brought this case to the 8th precinct homicide detectives earlier this year - white slaves.

While he listened to the crisp electronic voice he fingered the stiff papers with the crayon images on them. He knew them well and could trace the outline under his finger. 24 stick figures in a box. That first crime scene was a nightmare beginning to the investigation, Jim thought, and shook his head. Like most of his nightmares, it started out soft and easy with no hint of what was to come. Everyone seemed suspended in that space between boredom and action, where work got done steadily and progress was made without a lot of noise.

He slid into his memory of that day…

~

Jim stopped typing, the electronic voice ceased. Had he heard the Lieutenant say something? He crooked his head. Marty was bashing away at his keyboard. Tom was on the phone but quiet, listening a lot. Karen was at her desk. Her leather jacket creaked again. Someone was stepping back from the files behind Karen, heels on the floor, female. But who, he couldn’t tell. Ah, there, a heavy step at the photocopier and a sigh as it whirred through its cycle. He looked up, ready.

Fisk spoke above the murmur in the room. “Who’s up?”

“Me.” Tom volunteered.

“And, Karen, you up after that?”

“Yes, Boss.”

“Two call-ins. An anonymous 911 - European accent of some kind. Said there was a container of dead bodies on the docks, possibly been there a couple of months. The uniforms that checked it out couldn’t find the container, but there is a possibility it’s connected to that slaving ring we’ve been picking up hints about, so the chief wants us to take a look. Here’s your search warrant.”

Great, permission to open a can of dead bodies. Depending on how long they’d been there, the detectives investigating could be dealing with anything from slightly off and stinking to downright rotting or even desiccated and dried like mummies. Dental IDs were all very well for TV cops, but real ones preferred faces and fingerprints – not mush.

Slap – must be the warrant hitting a desk – sounded like Marty’s. Jim smiled, and wondered what Marty’s expression was. The guy was a wuss when it came to old DOAs.

Jim was pretty sure that it had been Russo he’d heard chucking at the railway station where the smell of a 5-day-old corpse had alerted passengers. But Tom was loyal and refused to answer Jim’s queries about Marty’s health. Karen claimed she didn’t know. Even when he’d pressured her, she wouldn’t tell Jim who had the uneasy stomach. It might take time, but he would find out eventually.

Fisk continued, “Second call, a male youth screamed into the 911 line that gunmen were raking the homes in the south tenements. No gunfire could be heard in the background. The patrol that responded says 2 dead so far.”

Fisk’s footsteps signalled he was returning to his office.

“Ah, Boss, who’s doing what?” Karen asked the question on everyone’s mind.

“Do I look like I care?” The question hung in the air a long time after Fisk’s door slammed shut. Clearly he had no need for an answer.

Jim welcomed the acerbic side of Fisk’s nature. With the boss, it was always black and white. Not like most people. Most people hinted and then got mad when you didn’t pick up on it.

As Christie had pointed out quite vehemently last night – Jim had always been slow at picking up hints. He just assumed all was well unless someone said something. This was now compounded by being blind which meant he was more oblivious than ever. How did Christie expect him to pick up hints he couldn’t even see? He smiled. When he had brought up that incident when she had said “Can’t you see I’m upset?” and walked out of the apartment when he replied honestly, “No.” The counsellor had gone quiet and suggested to Christie that maybe Jim wasn’t the only one responsible. It was a fluke, usually the counsellor talked in riddles and hidden meanings herself. So what? He was just there for Christie’s sake. He wanted to show her he was working on their marriage.

Jim was brought back from his musings by the sound of a coin dropping onto a desk.

“I’ll flip you for it!” Tom began a familiar ritual. Jim sat back in his chair and smiled. Karen always hated this.

“Ah, tails.” Her voice sounded unsure.

The flick of a coin off a nail and …Tom called the coin, “Heads.” As if there had been any doubt. In all the coin flips he had been party to since joining the squad, Jim never heard Tom lose. “Me and Marty will take the gunfire.”

“I was thinking the docks sound like a better stroll anyhow. May not even be anything there. So we both got what we wanted.”

Jim smiled. Like hell she was thinking that!

“Good choice, Tom. Come on. Hey, he gave you an even chance, Karen,” Marty tried to apologise but it came out insincere. His chair creaked and rolled back. Was that relief in his voice? “This one is designed just for you anyhow, Dunbar. You can ID the bodies all by smell. This one has a very distinctive aftershave, this one used deodorant…Whereas ours will still have faces.” Jim couldn’t hear Marty laugh at his own joke, but wouldn’t have bet against it.

Jim held a straight face. “But the view at the tenements is unbeatable, I’ll hate missing that.”

Marty’s filing drawer slammed shut as he laughed. He thought maybe Marty was doing that pointing thing Karen had mentioned. A non-verbal touché? Not being able to see visual cues was a drag. He could ask Karen, but that made him feel stupid. Jim sighed.

Marty tried to come up with a blind joke every day. And he didn’t seem to notice when they didn’t make the grade. But at least he hadn’t created obstacle courses with the furniture for a while now, and his chair had developed that creak so Jim usually knew when he left it out from under the desk. Jim stood, and put on his suit jacket.

Karen spoke up. “You that keen to go look for some jerky?”

He turned to her, impressed, did she just call the DOAs jerky?

“Anything to get out this place. Marty’s shampoo – you know.” He waved his hand in front of his nose to carry the joke. He was rewarded with chuckles from three corners.

“I’ll meet you downstairs. If we’re five minute late, the guys will still be dead.” Karen was jovial today.

“Nice, Karen, nice.” Jim smiled at the image of well-preserved corpses checking their watches.

Hank, it seemed, was keen for some jerky. He pushed Jim’s knee and manoeuvred into position. “Don’t get your hopes up, Hank. I doubt you’ll even get close.”

~

As he buckled his seatbelt in the car Jim recalled Marty’s words and tone. Yes, Marty definitely sounded relieved. “Hey, Karen, what was Marty’s expression when the Lieutenant described the dock scene?”

Karen answered from habit, “Serious, brows knitted, a bit quiet. Why do you ask?”

Jim shook his head. “Just curious.” He smiled and filed that tidbit away.

~

[Dreamfire]

Arriving at the docks, Jim was getting Hank out of the car when a voice called out to them. “You might wanna leave your dog in the car? The idiot in charge let the security dogs out, seeing as how we’re striking and there are so few people around. They shouldn’t touch you but I can’t say about the dog…”

“That’s fine. And thanks,” Jim spoke in the direction of the voice. Then he directed Hank back into the car and wound Hank’s window up, feeling the gap with his hand and leaving only a couple of inches for air, no room for a dog snout. “You stay safe in there, Hank.”

“We can start with that guy maybe?” Karen indicated the man who had warned them about the dogs and they headed over.

The voice turned out to belong to the dock clerk. They stood on the steps and talked to the man in the cabin. He said there was no super-container D1875. It didn’t exist. After some argument, he offered to show Karen the spreadsheets of the containers moving on and off the docks. “Sorry, Detective,” the clerk shouted out the door, “there’s only room for one more person in here – it’s squeezy.”

Karen poked her head in the cabin. “He’s right –can you wait out here?”

“Yeah. Go. Find our missing can.”

Jim stood outside, waiting. An air conditioner groaned and started up as Karen went up the steps. He could hear snippets of the conversation inside, but not enough to be useful. The sun was warm on his face, with no breeze he was getting hot in his suit. He loosened his tie.

Footsteps on the stairs; Karen. “Sorry, Jim, here, let’s get out of this heat.” She gave him her arm and they moved to the shade. The temperature in the shade was several degrees cooler. “There’s nothing on any manifesto that I could see. And no indication he was covering.”

“How do you want to do this? I’m assuming they’re all in rows, and numbered?” Jim patted the container behind them.

“Oh man, that would take all day, several days maybe, Jim.” Karen sighed. “Let’s see, yes they have numbers but there’s no pattern to them. There are rows, but we’re talking thousands and thousands of containers.”

“At least they’re on strike here so the containers won’t be moving around.” If there was a long and tedious search in front of them, it would get done faster if they started. He took her arm again. “Come on. Read me the numbers as we go, maybe there is a pattern.”

“K5879, J8796, T6567….” Karen sounded bored.

He let the numbers flow into his mind; if there was a pattern, it was likely it would surface pretty soon.

“J8750…”

“You already said that one.”

“No I didn’t.”

“Yes, about 20 containers ago.”

“J8758?”

“No, you said J8750 – twice.”

“Argh, does it matter?” Karen was getting riled.

Jim shook his head and let it go. “I guess not, I can’t find any pattern in them anyhow.”

“Well that fits with that the clerk said.”

“What?” Jim stopped, turned to face her. “He told you there was no pattern?”

“Yeah, he said it was random, the numbers were IDs but they came off ships like passengers off a plane, no relevance between the ID and where the container ended up.”

“So you’ve been reading them out, and I’ve been concentrating on them for no reason.”

“Ah, I guess.” She sounded sheepish.

He decided to let it go. It annoyed him because there had been no way for him to count steps while listening to the IDs. Although they had only walked in one direction, he had no reference for how far they had come. Which was a good trade off for finding a pattern, but not for nothing.

His problem, not hers. Let it go, Dunbar.

He sighed, and took her arm again, nodding. “Let’s just find this container.”

A few feet later Jim thought he could hear footsteps behind them. “Someone behind us?”

Karen’s hair brushed his shoulder. “No…” She sounded uncertain. “Maybe I saw someone duck around the corner but I can’t be sure.” He heard her release her gun.

“Okay, turn off this aisle as soon as you can.”

Jim could smell cigarette smoke now, and although he couldn’t hear the footsteps yet, he had that feeling of being watched.

Karen whispered, her head close to his ear, “Going left. Three, two…” On one Jim and Karen swung left sharply. Her gun slid through her holster and Jim moved up next to her, his foot and knee touching hers for position.

He turned his head, counting the light footsteps he could now pickup. “Steps coming…three, two… now.”

“Freeze – police.” Karen moved out, her voice confident and strong.

“I, I, I …”

“Put your hands up – Now! Who are you?”

“Carelli, Gerimo Carelli.” Deep voice, older, 40, 50 maybe more. Italian accent. He sounded surprised but not afraid.

Jim stepped up next to Karen. “Why are you following us, Mr. Carelli?”

“I not following you, well, I just, maybe... I hear your conversation before and I know where she is, the big container.”

“And why are you here? On the docks?” Jim persisted, looking for a better answer or to catch this guy in a lie. If this guy was legitimate, there was time to find out about the container, if not…

“I’m a stevedore, Sir, but I’m no sure of the rules. They tell me if I work I get fired, maybe if I’m not here and they want me to work I get fired? My wife, Bella, she tells me, better I go to the docks and wait to see if they want me.”

Karen’s safety clicked on. “You overhead our questions to the clerk?”

“Si. You told him you were cops. Are you really?” That long, long pause that usually meant someone was staring at him. Jim sighed and pulled his badge out. He heard Karen follow suit. “Sorry, it’s just I noticed you don’t see so well and I thought …”

Jim had had just about enough. His put a hard edge to his question. “What do you know about container D1875?”

“Nothing, I just saw it the other day. I’m pretty sure it’s still there.”

“And why were you hanging around the clerk’s office?” Jim wasn’t convinced this guy was as innocent as he tried to sound.

“Sometimes when it gets quiet, Colin and me, we play cards, place some bets …. you know?”

Enough rope, that’s what this guy needed. Jim took another line of questioning. “Mr. Carelli, tell me, out of the thousands of containers on this dock, how would you know of this particular one?”

“I, well, I just remember things, numbers especially. And I’m sure that’s the big container on the north side that’s been there for months. Look, I don’t know anything about it. I just heard you asking and thought…” Jim heard a grinding noise at their feet – Carelli putting the cigarette out under his heel.

“We appreciate that Mr. Carelli, come on, show us this container.” Karen must have waved him on in front. The footsteps were lighter than he expected, for an older Italian man.

Jim heard the smile in Karen’s voice as he took her arm and fell into step. “Can’t you wait ‘til he’s shown us the container before you roast him?”

Jim grinned at her. “Good cop - bad cop, you know?”

She punched him playfully in the arm, she liked it when he lightened up. The goofy Dunbar was a rare thing, but Karen got lucky every now and then.

Sulphur from a match and then cigarette smoke drifted back. A chain smoker. Carelli took them deep into the maze of containers. Freed from listening to container IDs, Jim found it easy to keep track of how far they went and the turns they made – almost second nature now. “He’s legit?”

“He seems alright, nothing menacing. And it’s still broad daylight. - Here, I’d say this was it.”

They stopped and Karen moved away.

She started her description for Jim. “It’s huge, at least 6 times as big as the others.”

Carelli ground another cigarette under his heel and joined in, “These are special ones - new style from a couple of years back. But they didn’t catch on, you know? We call ‘em widow boxes – on account of they real hard for us to handle and maybe more of them fall, killing stevedore, like me, and leaving widows crying.” A raspy laugh followed by coughing. “Not many of them ’round now though. Maybe that’s why I remembered it?” Jim thought he sounded like he liked that excuse for remembering.

Karen picked up again. “D1875 is welded onto each side, like the others but bigger. No other marks of country, company or ownership.” Her voice moved around the right and behind the container. Jim shifted uncomfortably, not liking that she was out of direct range. He picked up her voice again as she came around from the left. “It’s got huge double doors. Like a giant garage. There’s a control panel of some sort on here, too. And the door handle – it’s huge, maybe three or four feet across. Strange though, like, you know how on submarines the handles have mechanisms on the outside?”

“OK?” Jim struggled to bring a picture of a submarine door handle to mind. Karen often had a strange way of looking at things. “Like gears and levers?”

“Yes, exactly.”

“And the panel?”

“Well, it says DISENGAGED. MANUAL ACCESS READIED.”

“So, let’s take a look. You ready for King Tut?”

Karen stepped back next to him. “Gerimo, do you know how to open this?”

“No ma’am, if I do that I could lose my job. You’re cops, you do it.” The match he lit up as he talked, placed him about 10 feet from the container. He sounded curious but unwilling to take a chance.

“I’ll do it.” Jim stepped forward.

“I don’t know, Jim, it looks kind of complex.”

Jim pulled latex gloves from his pocket. “Well then, no harm in trying.” He grinned. “Did I ever tell you about my first case? A safe cracker who knew the whereabouts of a perp my lieutenant really wanted us to find. I spent a lot of time in the cell with him – he talked a lot.”

“In the cell?”

“I didn’t care much for protocol in those days.” Jim’s smile grew wider.

Jim reached for the door and smiled when Karen pushed him slightly to the left and ahead. “Ah, hello, baby.” He traced the edge, the latch and the hinges; he followed the pattern of pulleys. It was fairly simple really; as long as the electronics were disengaged, and if there wasn’t too much rust it shouldn’t even put up much of a fight. He slid both hands to end of the lever, and began to apply pressure. Not enough. It didn’t give.

“Maybe we should…”

Jim held up his hand. He just needed to brace and put a bit of muscle into it he was sure; manual was manual. He could feel his muscles heating up and sweat beaded his brow and then – ahh – the handle shifted slightly. Then a little more and a little more.

“You got the Polaroid ready?”

“Ah, no, it’s in the car.”

“Mm, I’m going to open.”

He tugged at the huge door, expecting some resistance, and almost fell back as the smell hit him like a fist in the face. Karen and Carelli gasped behind him. Coughing and retching noises joined his own outpouring of breath as all three tried to expel the foul stench from their lungs. One hand on his mouth and nose, Jim tried to push the door shut again but his hand met only air, his tug must have swung it open wide. After a moment of groping for the door he turned away; if he didn’t get away he would throw up, the odours were too strong to block out with just a hand.

Jim stepped forward, one hand still over his mouth and nose, the other reaching out in front. Someone grabbed his jacket and pulled, he went with it, gagging.

After twenty feet or so he slowed, the smell slightly less overpowering. Slowly he removed his hand from in front of his face. Retching sounds to his right, coughing to his left. “Karen?”

Instead of an answer he felt his arm taken, Karen’s hands, trembling, she held onto him tightly. Her breath, little snatches and gasps. He stepped closer to her. “What did you see, Karen? Tell me.”

He felt her grip tighten on his arm and her breath came in ragged snatches. “Oh God, oh God, Jim.”

He reached for the radio to call for backup but she stopped him and started speaking. It sounded like she was struggling to get the words out but she pushed on. “It’s like a tableaux. A medieval painting. Grotesque. Unreal. Bodies. Lots of bodies. Children.” He let her ramble, he could feel her trembling slow, her breath smooth out.

Gently, trying to calm her and help her regain her professional objectivity, he spoke quietly. “Items, positions, details, directions.”

He felt her nod, her hair brushing his jacket, and take a breath. “On our left, bunks, five high, two, no three rows deep at least. Large, roomy, duvets and pillows. Colorful, new. Small, individual lights. Some of them are on, they were reading. People lying in bunks, three, that I can see, more behind I think. Blonde, they’re all blonde, beautiful. They were beautiful, now, they’re all dried, almost preserved. I’d say, depending on how they died and it looks like they just went to sleep, so maybe gas? They look like they’ve been here for months. I don’t how anyone could do this?

Karen’s voice started to betray her again.

Jim shook his head, this must be very, very bad for Karen to be so affected, she was normally stoic, almost as if she had to prove something in front of the guys, but either this was getting past her defences or she was relaxing around him if not around he other guys. Jim directed her back to the job at hand. “Items, positions, details, directions.”


“In the centre; a table, just like any kitchen table you’d find in a house. They’ve had breakfast on it, cereal, toast, a child, asleep at the table, ooh…” Behind him Jim became aware that Carelli was reciting the Lord’s Prayer, in Latin, his voice a deep sobbing bass line. Karen started trembling again and Jim moved to take out his radio.

“No, let me finish.” Karen’s voice was almost back to normal. The smell no longer smothered them. Karen drew Jim with her, a few steps forward, back toward her horror. “Carpet, red, worn, like maybe a couple of years old. It’s all a little worn, secondhand looking, used. They’ve been bringing people over in this for years, Jim.”

Jim swallowed as the image that had been coming together, building in his head, piece by piece, coalesced. He nodded. “What else do you see?”

“Centre, at the back a partition, a whiteboard, drawings on it and a calendar- last date checked off was about 2 months ago- and on the floor, some children playing a board game, Monopoly. To the right, a big TV, kids on the couch, a man, dark hair, maybe fifty, a .45 in his belt but with a child asleep-” she corrected herself, “-dead on his lap.” Karen sounded drained, tired but objective and with some distance from the scene in front of her.


Jim’s mind was computing, listening, cataloguing and starting to work the data. Someone wanted these people to arrive alive and sane. “OK, Karen, time to call this in. We need to let the Lieutenant know and get CSU down here”- Jim interrupted himself, “did you hear that?” Turning; trying to locate the sound, a rumble, a motor starting up, a screeching whine assaulted his ears. Then whuump! Something ignited. His breath turned acrid in his lungs, his nose burned and he closed his eyes against the sting. Jim gasped, stumbled backward into Carelli behind him and lost his balance. He felt the radio in his hand hit something and then the man scrambled out from under him and disappeared.

Karen was at his side, shouting in his ear. “Smoke. Stay low, hold your breath - we’re going to run.”

She moved fast, he followed, holding her outstretched arm. He bent over trying to stay under the unseen smoke, breathing as shallowly as he could and with his eyes shut tight against the sting. The air felt hot, he couldn’t hear flames and wondered if it was the gas itself creating heat or was it burning their skin? Two containers left and he heard her grunt as she stopped abruptly. She turned right and then left again very soon. Too soon. He could hear her breathing getting more ragged, she was gasping, slowing her pace, coughing harder. “Shh.” He stopped her with a hand on her back and listened. Damn, the generator was in front of them again. He pulled her in closer. “Karen, what’s happening?”

He felt something come over his head, as if she was trying to shield them; her coat. “Jim, the smoke is really black. I can’t see even a foot in front of me. Maybe we should wait here ‘til the breeze blows it away?”

Shaking his head and hoping she could see that much, he stepped out from under the cover of her coat, reached over and pulled it further over her head to give her as much protection as possible. Taking her hand he stepped forward, along the side of the container. The corrugated side gave him a measure of how fast he was moving, the ground was relatively flat and clear. Steadily gaining speed he moved from container to container, back out of the maze Carelli had taken them into. Four containers, left, seven steps to the next one, three containers, right, eleven containers ahead, left turn…

His breath deepened, his lungs accepting the air more easily, although the smell was quite strong – not gasoline, not any fuel he could identify. Two more turns and they would be back at the point where he had started counting. Then it would be straight out, how far he wasn’t sure. He thought he could hear the sound of water lapping ahead, how long had they been in there, had the tide risen already?

He brought them to a halt. “Karen?”

“I got it.” She led the way, panting but certain in her direction. He opened his eyes cautiously but the bite in the air was gone. A few steps on different ground, hollow, uneven. “Here.” She placed his hand on a rough wooden pylon. “We’re right on the edge of the dock – the car is on the other side of the containers I think. Have you still got the radio?”

The car, Hank, shit. First things first. He nodded, and called dispatch. “Dunbar here, 8th precinct. We’re at Dock 13, multiple homicides in container D 1875. South end of the dock. Approach with caution, there was an explosion and heavy smoke around the area.”

“Acknowledged. Fire trucks and patrol responding now.” A further call to the Lieutenant and Jim could hear the call of sirens across the water. One bridge and they’d be here.

He turned to Karen. “Do you think the smoke has gone near your car?”

“Oh, shit – Hank!” Karen’s arm met his open hand. “Come on, if we skirt around we should be alright. It’s mostly dissipated now.” He followed her again, she was almost running. It seemed like a big circle, around the containers he guessed, and then she slowed. She stopped running and bent over panting, “He’s OK. I can see him. … He’s wagging his tail watching us.”

The relief hit him like cool water, he reached out. “Straight ahead?”

“Yeah, Jim, 12 o’clock - no obstacles.” He moved forward. Oh God, Hank… his hand hit the car, found the door handle and he felt hot breath on his face. “Hey boy, you OK?” Hank jumped out, tail wagging his whole body. Jim ran his hands along his back, squatted to listen to his chest. “Sounds normal. How’s he look?”

He could hear the smile in her voice, “He looks fine, Jim, clear eyes, alert.”

“Good.” Jim stood, finally letting go of his anxiety. “The trucks are here.”

“Patrols, too. And the boss is here.” The swish of her jacket –she must be waving him over. “On his way.”

Jim turned and directed Hank back to the car. He wound the window tight before giving Hank another pat, shutting the door. He moved to the front door and opened it, finding the Polaroid camera before shutting the car again.

“You two leaving?” The Lieutenant, moving up quickly, sounded concerned.

“No, but that was nasty smoke. I don’t know how Hank would react to something like that.” Jim answered for them both, walking over. He felt Karen’s hand on his arm and he stopped next to her. He turned to the Lieutenant. “Has the smoke cleared enough for us to go have another look?”

There were steps behind Fisk, probably Marty and Tom. “Whoa, what happened to you, Bettancourt? You look like the devil.” Yep, and as tactful as ever, Marty got straight to the point.

“What are you talking about, Marty?” Karen sounded puzzled, he heard her slapping her clothes, as if to remove dust.

No one responded. Jim looked up. “What?” He heard Karen echo his question.

Silence …and then she gasped, loudly. “What?” he repeated, irritated, “enough of this game already.”

Tom answered, “No game, Jim. Your eyes, you and Karen both, they’re red like ...” he went quiet.

Fisk sounded half-concerned half-annoyed. “You two better get checked out, in case it’s not just cosmetic. But both of you – your eyes are glowing like red coals.”

No, he got her out of there. She couldn’t be hurt. Jim turned her around to face him, he couldn’t help but scan uselessly for her eyes. “You’re hurt?”

“No, Jim, nothing hurts. Mind you, if my eyes look red like yours I can understand Marty’s dig.” Her voice shifted away from him. If she was giving Marty shtick, she couldn’t be that bad. “Stop looking so worried – I tell you I’m OK.” She must have been studying his face. “We’ll go get checked out as soon as we debrief.”

Jim nodded, he’d let it go, but he hated this. Relying on someone else’s judgement, taking their lead. He listened to Karen’s debrief, as she relived the horror of the moment. He added Carelli’s disappearance, suggested he be found and brought in as priority. Then he described their retreat.

“You followed him out?” Obviously Marty’s question was directed at Karen but Jim took up the challenge.

“And now Tom can follow you back in to photograph the bodies, Marty.” Jim held out the camera and tried to keep the smile off his face. He bet that Marty wasn’t smirking now.

[Dreamfire]

The medics were concerned over the amount of smoke Karen and Jim had inhaled and the redness in Karen’s eyes. So they agreed to go to emergency but Karen refused a ride in the ambulance. Jim backed her up, she wouldn’t drive if she wasn’t OK, and he really didn’t want a fight over whether or not Hank could ride in an ambulance.

Despite the call ahead from the EM team they caused a ripple of concern in emergency, with their red eyes, soot and Hank. Jim was asked to leave Hank just inside the front door, in a waiting room, but it was better than the car. Thinking it would be quicker to go along with this, Jim complied. The triage nurse admitted them as priority and they were given beds next to each other.

Karen had only given him a basic layout of the space when someone started asking her questions. Then he heard Karen being wheeled away. “I’ll see ya soon, Jim.”

Jim waited for his questioner to arrive but no one spoke by his bedside. Hospitals – he hated them. Something brushed his face. He flinched and put up his hand to protect his face and felt fabric. “What the…” The sound of a curtain drawing closed. He hated not being told what was happening and snapped at the nurse, “What are you doing?”

“I just thought you’d like some privacy to undress?” One of those baby doll voices. Great he was being attended to by a child. “Um, the doctor wants to check your lungs. I just need you to take off your shirt and put this on.”

He waited but she said nothing more. “Put what on?” He couldn’t keep the exasperation out of his voice now.

“There is no need to take that tone with me.” He heard her grumbling about ungrateful patients and felt something land on his lap as her footsteps moved off. It was a hospital robe, the sort that did up at the back with little ties. God, he hated those.

By the time he had managed to get into the robe – open of course, how did anyone manage to tie those things behind one’s own back?- someone else arrived. They mumbled something indistinct to the wall, placed cold hands and a colder stethoscope on his chest.

Jim started to speak but was hushed up. “No talking now or I can’t hear your ticker. Deep breath.”

Jim breathed deeply but it felt like the stethoscope wandered around his chest almost aimlessly.

“Nothing to worry about there, young man, sounds fine.” A tremor in the voice generated images of a doddering old man with palsied hands and Jim heard the clatter of metal being dropped. Jim grimaced, guessing the doctor was under the bed trying to pick up his equipment.

But at least someone was talking to him. “Doctor, have you seen my partner, Detective Bettancourt? ...A young woman who came in at the same time as me? Hello? Doctor?” Jim waited but there was no answer. He heard the curtain open again and turned blinking. This was unbelievable.

“Dr. Johns already left. He’s a bit deaf. Probably didn’t hear you.” The voice was conspiratorial, male, and Marty would definitely have classed it as effeminate. “I’m Mark. I’m going to do your tox screen to make sure that smoke didn’t have hidden secrets. The fire department will do tests, but you know they take ages.”

Jim felt cool hands and the wrap of a blood pressure pad as his arm was lifted. He nodded and spoke over the hiss, “It’s just that I really am fine but, my partner wasn’t looking too well when we got here. I need to know what happened.”

“Your partner?”

“Yes.”

“I have to do this, but when I’m done I’ll find out what I can for you. Ooh, nice veins, easy to get to. You’re nice and fit.” Mark wiped a vein clean with a cold alcohol swab and gently placed the needle into the vein.

Jim relaxed a little. This fellow would surely follow up Karen for him. He gave the nurse what he hoped was an engaging smile. “Thanks.”

Mark spoke again, “Okay, swapping vials.”

There was no tugging at the needle, a smooth transition. “You’re good at this.”

“Oh, you’re just saying that.” Jim felt a pat on his arm. In his imagination Mark flicked his hand and looked coy.

Jim’s smile broadened. “No, I’ve had lots of experience with this, believe me.” Was that the sound of a satisfied sigh coming from the nurse?

“Okay, all done.” The wrap was off, the needles gone and Mark stood up.

“I’m off. Shouldn’t be too long.”

Mark started to stand but Jim reached out for his arm and smiled. “Can you let me know what’s happening with Karen?”

“Karen?”

“My partner.” Jim felt Mark slide his arm out from under Jim’s hand. “She came in with smoke inhalation and inflamed eyes. I don’t know where she is now.”

“No, I haven’t have seen her.”

The curtain billowed over him and Jim was alone again. He massaged his temples.

Time passed, Jim checked his watch twice, three times. Almost an hour since he’d seen Karen last. He put his head back on the pillow and tried to relax.

And jumped when he was prodded in the shoulder.

“Wakey, wakey, no sleeping in emergency.” A woman’s voice, harsh, demanding and asking questions. “Allergies?”

“No.”

“On any drugs?”

“No.”

“Heart condition?”

“No.”

“Pain in your lungs?”

“No.

“Pain in your eyes?”

“No. But I have a headache.”

“Any other problems?”

“With the headache or my eyes?”

“Ah, your eyes?” The nurse hesitated. “Any problems with your eyes?”

Jim’s anger returned from nowhere. “Well, I can’t see anything. Do you think that might be a problem?” Jim knew that sarcasm never helped and his voice seemed to rise without his volition but sometimes people’s idiocy was just too much. He took a deep breath. “Look, I’m sorry, actually I’m already blind…” but he heard her footsteps retreating. Too late. Either angry or hurt, she was gone.

Alone again, he fell back against the pillows. He knew he should be patient but hospitals seemed to bring out the worst in him. He’d come in with a f—g guide dog for God’s sake. What sort of hospital was this? Three medical professionals and no one had actually looked at him since he had arrived? He tried to relieve the tension in his neck but he was tight as a board. He just wanted to know how Karen was doing.

He put his hand to his face, massaged his temples and considered absconding. If he could find her, he would be back before they sent the next incompetent nurse or doctor. She had said her eyes were sore. His eyes weren’t sore, but he’d had them tightly closed from almost the beginning, she hadn’t had that option. She had been wheezing and coughing on the way over. Maybe she had breathed more in, or copped the brunt of the initial explosion. He hadn’t asked her and had no way of knowing. But there was no time before the curtain was torn open and someone else stepped into his space.

Footsteps next to the bed, then Jim felt cold hands on his jaw. Once this doctor started talking there was no butting in, no stopping him. “Nurse says there’s a problem with your eyes. They certainly look shocking. But your partner’s not having any problems. So what do we have? Foggy, sun spots? Wavy lines? This does not look good.”

Jim tried to open his mouth to answer but the doctor had hold of Jim’s jaw making answering impossible. Without slowing the commentary the doctor turned Jim’s face from side to side, up and down. By the time he let go and moved his hands to Jim’s eyes to open and close his eyelids, Jim’s jaw was clenched so tight he was afraid if he got any words out they would be violent. His hands gripped the rails on the bed so he wouldn’t grab something else. “Your admittance sheet says you were at an explosion and there was some gas released. When was this?” The doctor then proceeded to read that information out loud, presumably off the chart in front of him, “2 hours ago. Explosion, smoke, unknown fuelling. Your partner hasn’t complained of any vision loss though?”

Jim sat rigid in the bed. That confirmed it, no one had noticed he was blind, probably never even looked at him. He should not have to explain this. And the doctor hadn’t even bothered to read the chart… Jim could hear paper being turned over, he took a breath to let loose his frustrations but was interrupted with a hand on his arm.

“I’m sorry, Detective, I did not realise this was pre-existing.” The doctor sounded sincere, apologetic, embarrassed even. “Please, is there any irritation?”

Jim let his breath out, and forcibly held down the volume of his voice. “My eyes feel pretty normal. I have a headache, but that’s not uncommon for me.”

The doctor tilted Jim’s head back again. “There are no details on the chart. Do I need to consult with your specialist? Ocular or neural damage? ”

Jim assumed he was shining lights into his eyes, he could hear clicks. Of all the things that could set Jim’s teeth on edge, this was the worst. The click, the wait, the next click, and no change in between. Every click was like false hope rising up to tease him. Through gritted teeth Jim managed to answer him. “Neural.”

“Then we need to make sure there aren’t any other problems. Since we don’t know the source of the smoke yet, there might be active agents in it that could cause damage. Whereas your partner would notice changes in function, you won’t be able to, so we might have to be more… intrusive, to make sure your eyes are not damaged.” He then proceeded to push, prod and poke at Jim’s eyes. “Pressure seems good, and the fluid is clear, not cloudy. All good signs. Someone will be by to run some more tests for me.” And with a patronising pat on the shoulder he was gone.

Jim had had enough, he was certainly not waiting around for more intrusive tests. For a moment he oscillated between the helplessness he always felt at hospitals and a keen desire to see Karen. Tests that might or might not show up damage? So what, it wasn’t like his sight could diminish. And if the other staff had not realised he was blind, well he could use that to his advantage. Decision made.

Jim recalled Karen’s layout of the emergency ward, reception was left of the front doors followed by triage. A corridor opposite triage that led to the beds and cubicles. Karen had not gotten as far as telling him which beds they had occupied. He climbed out of the railed bed and dressed. He put on his dark glasses and a no-nonsense attitude.

He stepped forward and found the curtain, he lifted it and stepped out. Something flew past him, wheels, rushing feet. He stood still. Then he turned in the direction the gurney had come from and walked a dozen steps, but there was no wall and the curtain was intermittent, nothing he could follow easily. The sounds behind him were loud, distracting. He heard the hiss of the front doors somewhere but not directly ahead as he expected.

“Hank.” Jim called and held his breath. Claws tapping on the linoleum and a familiar wet nose in his hand. “Good boy, Hank.” He slid his hand along Hank’s back to the harness and let out the breath he had been holding. Almost home.

He set his face in a frown. “Forward.” There to the left the doors hissed again. He turned Hank and strode to the front door and out. Once outside the cool air was like a blessing. He shook his shoulders, releasing the last of the helplessness of being a patient.

Jim turned Hank around immediately and headed back in, angling left to where he could hear the receptionist on a call. He held his badge out. “Detective Dunbar; I’m here to interview a woman who has just been brought into emergency. A Karen Bettancourt.”

“Yes, Detective, she’s right over there in cubicle three.” The nurse was back on the phone before he could ask for directions. He smiled and walked away. Cubicle three couldn’t be that hard to find. “Hank, find Karen.”

A moment later he was rewarded. “Jim, over here. Hey, they let you go already?”

He gave her his charming smile and avoided the question. “How are your eyes?” He couldn’t keep the worry from his voice.

“Good, everything looks normal. They can’t find anything wrong except they’re so red. Feel a bit itchy maybe, how about you?”

Jim shook his head. He took his glasses off and rubbed his right eyebrow. “Nothing. Do they still look weird?” He faced her and raised his eyebrows.

Karen looked closer, turning his face in the light, compared to the doctor’s vice like grip hers was soft and welcome. “Yeah, don’t let Christie see them, she’ll freak.”

He smiled, the worry in his eyes not diminishing. “Karen …”

“No, you don’t have to tell me. I’ve worked with you about a year now. I value my eyesight more than ever.” He didn’t look convinced. “I’m here, aren’t I?”

Finally Jim nodded. “OK, but let me stick around and hear what they have to say, OK?”

As he finished the next doctor came in. “Detective Bettancourt, all your tests are clear. There were some very strange chemicals in that mix but I can find no burns on your skin or your lungs. The fire department will let us know if there is anything in it we need to worry about. We’ll give you some eye wash to take home for the redness. You need to let us know if there is anything unusual over the next few days.”

~

Tom, Marty and even Lt Fisk were long gone by the time Karen and Jim got back to the squad. It was late but both wanted to get their reports written while the incident was strong in their mind. Karen took a break to get them some coffee. The insistent ring of the phone pulled Jim’s attention from the voice reading back his report. “8th Precinct.”

“I’m calling from GHN Emergency; I was looking for Lieutenant Fisk?”

“He’s not here right now, how can we help you?”

“Ah, this is a little embarrassing actually, he asked us for full reports on the two detectives who were sent over here earlier today. We have the report on the female officer but…”

“Yes.” Jim could not help grinning.

“Well, we seem to have lost the second officer, we didn’t get to finish our tests and his release paperwork is incomplete… And I don’t know where he is. By the time the other officer arrived to pick up Detective Bettancourt, he had gone. We’ve looked everywhere, he just vanished.” She finished sounded defeated , as if she were expecting to be reamed out.

Jim’s grin grew wider. He liked the image of them searching for him while he escorted Karen out the door. He dropped his voice deeper and put on a serious tone. “It’s alright Miss, Detective Dunbar was called away for another emergency, we apologise if it caused you inconvenience.”

“Well officer, we have procedure we have to follow when we admit police officers, is there any way he could come back in?”

“No, that’s not possible – Detective Dunbar is” Jim thought quickly, “on a stake out.”

“Oh, well, in that case I just need an authorisation to release the detective absentia. Would you be able to do that?”

“Over the phone?”

“Sure, all I need is a badge number and I can sign these off and send them to Lieutenant Fisk.”

Jim gave her his own badge number and finished off in his most serious voice, “Thank you, … yes we will reprimand Detective Dunbar for not informing you before he left. We understand, yes, protocol must be adhered to.”

Jim put down the phone and smiled. That was a good call to intercept. The boss would have given him hell if he known Jim had played hooky from the hospital.”

“You’re on a stake out are you?”

Jim’s little self satisfied smile froze on his face, caught outright lying, as Karen reappeared in front of him.

Karen burst out laughing as Jim’s blush flooded his face, moving swiftly from his cheeks to his hairline.

~

Arriving home, Jim considered Karen’s comment about Christie seeing his eyes. If they were as bad as Karen said, Christie would worry; probably make him go to his ophthalmologist. On the job, he’d just keep the dark glasses on. He smiled, imagining Christie’s response if he did that at home. She got short with him if he even wore them in a restaurant, saying she wanted to see his eyes not hers. He’d have to be more subtle for his eagle-eyed wife.

In the evening they often sat together and she’d tell him about her day and he’d gloss over his. It was their ‘quality time’, so he always tracked her by voice and made sure he looked in her direction so she knew he was listening. If he tried to avoid her gaze tonight she’d get suspicious.

When she got home, he lied, told her he’d traded staying even later at the squad with having to review a case at home. He hurried through dinner, consciously keeping his eyes down and averted –it must have worked as she made no comment. Then he moved to his desk, facing the window and slid a copy of Karen’s report into his scanner. He became engrossed in the inconsistencies between Carelli and the dock clerk, in Carelli’s seeming disappearance, and the details in Karen’s report that he heard for the first time.

Christie tapped his shoulder. “I’m going to bed.”

He raised his head and smiled at her, accepted her kiss, and froze.

But her footsteps disappeared into the bedroom and the door slid shut as he held his breath, tense. He was sure he’d looked her straight in the eye. She had to have noticed the redness, so where was the gasp and the subsequent telling-off?

Jim knew exactly when he’d stopped looking at her, but he began to wonder, now, when she’d stopped looking at him.

~

[Dreamfire]

Jim opened his watch. 7:30 am. He ordered a coffee to go from the waitress and turned back to Karen. “We’re clear on our strategy for the day then? The container is top priority, I’ll chase the fire department and the ME’s report in and you locate Carelli for an interview?”

“Yep, then we head down to the morgue and check those bodies for ourselves. The older guy, he’s got some answers for us I’m sure.” Karen was referring to the 50-something corpse carrying the weapon who seemed to have been in charge of the people in the container.

She sounded tired. “It’s going to be a big day. I’m glad we don’t have anything else running right now.”

One more thing bothered him. “Was there another door to the clerk’s office?”

“No, why do you ask?”

“A window open perhaps?”

“Not that I remember. Why, Jim?”

“Now that I think about it, how could Carelli have heard your conversation with the clerk? We said nothing about the container outside and I was standing just outside the door and I could barely hear anything either of you said with that air conditioner rumbling away. The more I mull it over the more I think he was lying about that. Perhaps he had been watching us from the time we arrived. And he turned up to make sure we found that container.”

“It’s possible. But he seemed genuine to me, Jim, and then, when you opened it, he was as shocked to see what was in there as we were.”

“Maybe. But if he knew the container was there, maybe he knows more.”

Jim sipped his coffee, giving her time to think it through.

“Okay, and either that means that he was ratting on someone, or he wanted us to find it for some other reason.”

“Ratting, I’d say.” Jim couldn’t see any other way around that. “Did you hear if Tom and Marty took him into custody?”

“No, we’d better get a move on, I bet the boss will be all over us on this one.” She stood up. “What are you smiling at?”

“The image of Marty having to photograph all those stinking bodies.”

“What is it with you and Marty? You’re getting nearly as bad as he is.” She sounded disgusted.

He didn’t answer, just took Hank’s harness and kept the video of Marty’s photo shoot in his head as they walked out. Chuck, snap, chuck, snap.

~

Marty started up with the red-eye jokes as soon as they walked in. “Jim, I know you were angry last night – you still seeing red over this?”

There were sniggers all over the squad and Tom, it seemed was also caught in the game. “Karen, where you been? Looks like you caught the red-eye flight!”

“Is it that bad, Tom?” Karen took Tom aside at the vending machine.

“Well, yeah, with Dunbar it’s not so bad, you know, but when you look me in the eye… yeah it’s bad.”

So Karen donned her sunglasses and Tom stopped the bad taste jokes. Marty of course found a new avenue for his humour and now it was “blind leading the blind jokes.” And cartoons of a pair of detectives wearing shades. Karen had found the first one quite funny, but after the third one the joke wore off. She had stopped describing them for Jim and he had heard her crumple and toss at least once a day since then, usually accompanied by snickers from Marty.

Jim could sense Karen was getting riled. “Hey, soon as the boss comes in, we’re outta here. Let them have their fun.”

But they were in for escalating disappointments. Carelli had not been locatable at the scene. When the fire department had declared the site safe, the Lieutenant, Tom and Marty had gone in and been embarrassed. Where were the multiple homicides the first detectives had called in? CSU looked over the crate and although there were bodily fluids and a stench no one could stomach for long, there were no dead people. Fisk was at a loss for words. For once Marty had kept his mouth shut. How could anyone have removed so many bodies so quickly without being seen? Perhaps they had been alive, acting dead and were an immigration issue? Everyone looked to Fisk for answers but he had none.

Marty was smug, explaining how they had arrived to find an empty container, yes, obviously setup to transport immigrants or slaves or something, but empty of people, empty of bodies. Karen had ranted and raved, swearing like Jim had never heard her before until Fisk had walked in and all had gone quiet.

The bodies at the dock had disappeared. There was nothing to investigate. Fisk was subdued.

“Boss?” Karen’s voice was pleading.

“No bodies, no case.”

“But Boss, they were there. We saw them. Don’t you believe me?”

“Yes, Karen, I do, but odours of bodies are not bodies. And before you bring it up, bodily fluids are not bodies either.”

Karen was starting to sound desperate; Jim needed to back her up. “Boss, let us at least find this Carelli guy? He might know something. It can’t hurt?”

In the silence he could almost hear the Lieutenant shaking his head. “Alright, but don’t spend much time on it. And when you two get a new case, you get onto it. No delay.”

“Yes, Boss,” Karen joined in his reassurance.

Fisk must have left because Marty’s next comment was way out of line. “Hey guys, the Lieutenant went down to the fire department when we left the scene, checking what was contained in the smoke – we were all wondering if it could have been hallucinogenic.”

Tom pulled him up, sounding pissed off. “Marty, the boss didn’t say anything like that. He wanted to make sure they were going to be alright.”

“Come on, let’s use Interview One.” Karen stalked off and Jim followed. Marty’s scepticism could kill any thinking that was outside the box.

~

And now, reviewing the case folders it felt like they were no closer. The case had gone cold. They had been left with no bodies, no trail, nothing but a dormitory container, rumours of slave trading at the docks and no sign of Mr. Gerimo Carelli. With no families here calling for justice, with no bodies to compare with loved one’s faces on Interpol’s missing persons list, it was a case that people found easier to forget. No one outright said that Karen had been wrong about what she saw, but with Jim as the only other eyewitness, the jokes were hard to keep hidden.

But they made collars. Not on this case, but on other crimes that showed up while they continued their investigations. Five collars for dealing in human trade - an entire slave trading ring by the Italians running on the docks under their noses closed down. Two collars for putting out contracts that placed two prominent society women behind bars for a very long time and information that helped the neighbouring precinct wrap up a gun smuggling case they’d been working for months. But nothing on their own case. The other collars only bought them reprieve, not acceptance that the case was real. Karen could not forget the faces of the little girls and refused to give up the case. Jim could still hear the emotion under the surface whenever Karen spoke of it.

More than once Karen had commented on the detail of Jim’s memory as he pieced together the picture of what had happened on dock 13. And with it found the right questions to ask, the right people to put pressure on and finally he had developed a name and a story. Jim had developed a respect for Karen’s observation skills. She noticed things he thought he may have missed even when he could have looked for himself. The case drew them together, more closely, honed their skills and made a very convenient butt for Marty’s jokes. Undeterred, piece by piece, dockworker by dockworker Karen and Jim had chipped away at the stone wall in front of them and found a name. The original order for the container purchase, all those years ago, was signed DeVries, and his excuse that he had ordered them and never had the containers delivered was very flimsy indeed. DeVries. A name that brought out more rumours, and a story, but no evidence.

An entire cargo of slaves had arrived dead at the port. Smuggled away from their homelands after abduction they died in the giant containers. Rumour said one of the air conditioning units had experienced problems and sucked the air straight from the engine room pipes, poisoning the entire shipment of 24 slaves. Another rumour said that DeVries found out one of the slaves was the daughter of a rival gang in the trade and DeVries had intentionally “liquidated and dispersed” so as not to have her disappearance pinned on him. Truth was they did not know DeVries’ motive for the deaths, although the fire department’s report showed it was unequivocally intentional. The gas had been released several months before the container was found. The gas release mechanism had been activated by remote control.

The fire department’s report on the incident down at dock 13 was conclusive in its report. The explosion had been pre-set and, on a signal from a remote control, a second cylinder of gas had been forcefully directed at the door. The fumes were a milder form of the gas mix that had been used to kill the occupants. But at a concentration that was merely an irritant, not a killer. Red eyes had been the only complaint. The detectives had been kept away from the evidence effectively, as effectively as the occupants had been killed.

The medical reports had come in and neither Jim nor Karen were forced to take time off. Their eyes slowly returned to normal, after several days of both detectives wearing shades and Marty constantly ribbing Karen with: “Karen, Dunbar made you cry again?”

~

He pulled the last report from his scanner and closed the file. “You done, Karen?” Jim shook his head. That day had been hard on them both, in different ways and for different reasons. Jim’s trip to the hospital had fazed him more than he realised and Karen never seemed to be quite as objective when following leads on this case as she usually was.

“Nah, I could use your help on one last file.” He heard it land on the desk in front of him but when he reached for it a moment later, it wasn’t there.

“Didn’t you just put the file here?” He gestured hands up. “You know, everything about this case is a nightmare. Interviewees going missing, evidence disappearing, having to fight to even spend time on it. Now I’m sure I heard you drop the file here and it’s gone.”
Jim heard the strain in his own voice. Maybe he needed a break, too.

The desk scraped forward and then back. “Here, Jim, it slipped between the desks.” Karen put the file in his hands.

He smiled, it was getting to him, too. “I need to walk Hank first. How far away is your ice cream shop?”

By the bounce in her step, that was the right thing to ask. “Great, I’m coming too.”

~

As they turned into the ice cream shop she started describing flavours and colors. She seemed happy. Maybe now he could get some answers. He paid for their ice creams and asked casually, “Are you really 23?”

A long pause, then he could hear a smile in Karen’s voice, “Nah, I was just having you on.”

“And the rest?”

“It’s this case, Jim, and I’m sorry if I took it out on you. I just know we’re going to have another round of Marty jokes about this in the morning and…”

“I hear you, Karen.” Jim smiled inside. “I’ve got an idea on that. Do you think you could you get a Polaroid next time Marty heaves?”

Karen’s laugh brought his smile into the open and headed back to finish the job.