Family Ties

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Family Ties
Blind Justice/Bakersfield PD Crossover Episode Four

“Gruesome,” Wade Preston said, staring at the DOA. He hadn’t had a lot of full DOAs yet; in Bakersfield, he only ended up with pieces of bodies.

“Did we say you could talk?” Marty Russo said. “We let you come, what more you want?” He snapped pictures with a Polaroid of the body, slashed in the throat and both wrists.

Tom Selway noticed Preston growing pale. What kind of homicide detective got faint at the sight of a body? “You never seen blood before?” he asked the kid. Maybe it wasn’t fair to ride him about it, but Tom wasn’t sure how letting Preston tag along with them was going to make him a better detective. Bakersfield, CA really didn’t need a trained homicide detective, so why saddle the 8th NYPD with this guy?

Wade shook his head emphatically. He’d never seen pools of blood like this before. The head was veritably floating.

“Hey, Preston,” Marty said and tossed him a pair of latex gloves. “Get his ID.”

Wade frowned. The body was laying face-up; the ID would probably be in a back pocket. And the dead man was over six foot, probably three hundred pounds. Even though Wade was going into his second week of the Big Brother exchange with the NYPD, even though he’d helped solve the last crime, he still didn’t get any respect. Not that he wanted any… he was just tired of being the one to go home blood-splattered and bruised every night. He wasn’t a gopher; he was a detective.

But as he hoisted the DOA, rolling him over and pinning him with a shoulder so he could feel around for a wallet, he wondered how he was going to gain their respect. These guys weren’t just going to roll over and accept him. They were professional hard-asses.

The DOA slipped in its own bodily fluid, landing on Wade just as the detective grasped the wallet. The body covered his head and chest, making it hard to breathe. He floundered, pushing, scraping for leverage, but there was so much blood in the brick alley, all he could do was flap his arms. “Guys?” he asked in a muffled voice, but above him, he heard nothing. “Guys?”


* * *


“We caught a guy, may be connected to your DOA,” Lieutenant Fisk told his boys. He handed Marty Russo a post-it note with a name. “Run him through BCI, see what you can come up with. They’re bringing him up now.”

“Skip?” Marty asked skeptically. “That’s his name?”

“Yeah.”

“I don’t know of anyone named Skippy who could kill a man. That’d be like Timmy and Lassie going on a rampage in downtown Mayberry.”

“Timmy wasn’t from Mayberry,” Wade protested. He’d borrowed some clean unblemished clothes from the undercover stash the detectives kept on hand. A black pullover and a black leather jacket; he felt weird without his signature flannel and a t-shirt.

“Whatever,” Marty said snidely.

“Opie was—”

“Whatever.”

“I don’t know too many guys named Skippy who wouldn’t go bad,” Tom said. “Think about all the harassment he musta had growin’ up.”

“Just interview him when he gets here,” Fisk told them.

Marty pushed his chair back and stepped closer to the lieutenant, grimacing, to whisper, “He doesn’t gotta sit in on it with us, does he?” He thumbed the air at Wade.

“Hey, guys,” Wade said, “I’m not gonna hold you back.”

“Right,” Marty said.

“I’ll hold my own—”

“Heard it before.” Marty shot a glance at Jim Dunbar’s empty desk. Ever since Wade Preston had come to work with them for a month, the squad had become louder, more revelrous, full of toys. But there was one corner that had grown quiet; Dunbar had taken every assignment he could to stay out of the squad.

“Guys.”

“It’s okay, you can come,” Marty said. He had to admit, he couldn’t hate the kid. He just found him annoying. He and Dunbar both tended to rub Marty the wrong way sometimes, though in completely different ways. Having them both in the same room, Marty found himself feeling surrounded, stifled. On one side by a man who tried too hard to prove he could do his job, and on the other hand by a man who tried too hard to prove he could do his job. It was like they were the same person, coming at him from different ends of the spectrum.


* * *


“What’d he give you?” Fisk asked as the three detectives exited the interview room.

“Nothing,” Marty said.

“We’re gonna give him a few minutes, let him cool down a little,” Tom said.

“Hello?” a woman asked.

They all turned to see a blonde lady standing next to a dark-haired girl at the gate.

“We help you?” Fisk asked.

“I hope so. My name’s Elyse. Elyse Keaton. This is my daughter, Mallory.”

“What can we do for you, Mrs. Keaton?”

“We think you arrested our neighbor…”


* * *


“So, Mallory,” Jim Dunbar said in Interview One, “you vouch for Skip’s personality?”

“Well…” the girl said noncommittally.

Wade hadn’t stopped staring at her since she’d walked into the squad. He was having this feeling of déjà vu. This girl, who was she? He had that feeling, the same feeling he’d once had for Eden—he was going to marry this girl. But unlike with Eden, the feeling was a little more ominous.

Wade watched Jim walk around to the far side of the table, trailing the back of a finger across the top. The man leaned down toward the lovely dark-haired girl. “Your neighbor’s been accused of murdering a man in an alley. One Irwin Handleman, a pimp. You think he could have done it?” Jim asked.

“A pimp? Skippy? He’s a little strange sometimes, but he doesn’t usually hang out with prostitutes.”

“Do you know anyone named Irwin Handleman?”

“The name sounds a little familiar…”

“Think it over, see what you can remember.”

“Are you and Skippy… romantically involved?” Karen asked. She was leaning against the radiator by the window, as if waiting for the right moment to jump in.

Mallory laughed. “No. No way.”

“No?”

“I’m going out with Nick. Skippy’s a nice guy, but—”

“Nick?” Jim grimaced and turned toward Karen as if looking for visual confirmation. Wade had never understood quite how Dunbar worked; sometimes it was almost as if he could see. “Nick Dyson?”

“Who?”

Karen hid her face with a hand and stared out the window. “There’s more than one Nick in the world, Jim.”

“Yeah…” Jim said, “sorry.”

“Now, Mallory, if you’ve ever heard of this Handleman character before, you need to let us know, or your pal Skip’s in big trouble.” Karen’s face was set in an unemotional mask.

Wade watched the two detectives, wondering how the blind man and the young woman had slipped so easily into a partnership that they could case crime scenes and interview people so effortlessly. His own partner, Paul Gigante, had been less than enthusiastic to welcome Wade with open arms.

Wade slipped into the chair next to Mallory and looked deep into her eyes. “Mallory, what do you know? Why are you here? If not to vouch for your friend, why’d you come?” he asked quietly, then patted her shoulder.

“Uh, Wade, why don’t you wait outside? We can handle this,” Jim said.

“But—”

Jim grabbed Wade by the collar of the leather jacket, hoisted him out of the chair, and pushed him to the door. “Thanks for stopping by.”

The door clicked shut. Wade stood a minute, looking into the almost empty squad. Everyone else had something to do. What’d they think, he was going to screw up their interview? Get in the way of them bouncing questions back and forth? If he didn’t ask questions, how was he supposed to learn? Wade leaned back and locked the interview room door from the outside. Let them sit there and stew for a while. He’d take care of things on this end.


* * *


Wade slipped into the other observation room. Marty and Tom were interviewing the mother, Elyse Keaton, but after a little research, Wade was beginning to see how these women were easily pulling the wool over the detectives’ eyes. He glanced at the printout, then waited patiently for the detectives to finish up their questioning so he didn’t have to interrupt.

“…you think this has been a long time coming?” Tom asked.

The woman nodded. “I’ve been waiting for that boy to snap since the first day his parents brought him home from the hospital.”

“Mrs. Keaton, do you have any evidence of Skippy’s behavior that would help us put him away?” Marty asked. “Long binges on alcohol? Disappearances over the weekends? Truancy from school or jobs?”

“He was never a bright boy,” Elyse said. “Always hiding his true feelings. We were never able to understand him. But he had a thing for my daughter, and we tried to make him one of the family.” She looked sad.

Wade had seen enough. He slipped back out into the hallway and locked the door of the second interview room, effectively staving off any escape the women planned.

“Hey, Wade,” the lieutenant called from his office, “how’re the interviews going?”

Wade paused just outside Fisk’s door. “Not bad, lieutenant. Give them a half hour, I think they’ll come up with something. They, uh, wanted me to bring Skippy up from the tombs, that okay?”

“Sure, take a uniform with you. Who knows what that guy will do if it’s just you. No offense, we’re dealing with a dangerous guy here. And you detectives down in Bakersfield, you don’t have the experience.”

Wade felt his shoulders sagging, but he bucked up; he had a job to do. He ran for the tombs, there was a man to bust out of jail, evidence to gather, and a motive to hone.


* * *


“What’s this about?” Skippy asked, raising his head weakly from the cot in the cell.

“What’s your real name?” Wade asked.

“Marc. Marc Price.”

“You really going to take the fall for those two women?”

“What do you mean?” the goofy guy asked.

“They’re up there right now saying you killed that man.”

“But I wouldn’t—”

“I know that. I just need your help getting the evidence together. Who was that guy, and why’d they kill him?”

“I can explain everything…”

Wade made the officer unlock the cell. “Explain on the way.”


* * *


“That wasn’t Irwin Handleman,” Wade explained to the lieutenant back in the squad room. “It was a code name for a very elaborate hoax.”

“Where’s Tom and Marty?”

“They’re still in Interview Two.”

“And Jim and Karen?”

“They’re still in Interview One.”

Fisk’s eyes roved over him, searching out the truth. “What’s going on, Preston? Your reputation is riding on this. Why’ve the other detectives been interviewing the character witnesses for so long?”

“Because they’re not character witnesses,” Marc, aka Skippy, piped up from the holding cell. “They told me I wouldn’t get charged if I just sat in the interview room and didn’t say anything. They said they’d come get me out.”

“What they really came to do was make sure Skippy took the fall,” Wade explained. “Those women aren’t Elyse and Mallory Keaton. Their real names are Meredith and Justine.”

“My name’s Marc,” Marc piped up again.

Wade handed the lieutenant a printout on each of the women. “We just need to get them to confess.”

“So who’s the DOA?” Fisk asked.

“He’s president of our fan club,” Marc said.

Fisk turned to the holding cell finally and raised his eyebrows. “Excuse me?”

“Meredith and Justine and I have had a hard time finding work. Happens to a lot of actors after a big show, where they get known for playing a very specific role.”

“The three of them came up to New York for a book signing and promotional tour,” Wade added.

“And this guy—who’s legally changed his name to Alex P. Keaton—begged us to meet with him. He was completely obsessed with the show. He’s redecorated his apartment just like the Keaton’s house on the show, changed his name, bought nearly every piece of memorabilia he could. And he’s rich. Really well off.”

“So they all agreed to meet with him.”

“Meredith told me we’d just see if he could sponsor us. I bet he would have given us the money we needed.”

“But?” Fisk asked.

“I didn’t know they were going to kill him!”

“You witness this?”

“No. We had dinner with this guy, next thing I know, I’m being hauled in on his murder. I didn’t even know he was dead!”

“So you don’t know for sure who killed this guy?”

“The ID on the body was faked,” Wade piped up and handed the lieutenant another page he’d printed off. “His name used to be Andrew Anderson. Family money.”

There was a pounding and all three stopped talking to locate the noise. It was coming from the second interview room.

“What’s going on?” Fisk asked.

“Tom and Marty,” Wade said.

“What’d you do, lock them in?”

“I, well, yeah, I needed proof.”

Fisk moved closer to the door, then turned back, grinning. “Brilliant.” He laughed, then opened the door to find two of his detectives red-faced and sweating. “Come on out, boys. Ma’am, it’ll be another minute.” He shut the door on Elyse Keaton.

But the pounding didn’t stop; Interview One was having a similar case of knocking across the squad room.

“Wade, go let them out,” Fisk ordered.


* * *

“Why was the door locked?” Marty roared.

“At least we know no perp’ll ever be able to break out of there,” Tom said, wiping his forehead with the sleeve of his magenta shirt.

Jim bumped into Karen as he quickly traversed the squad. “You guys got locked in, too?”

“Simmer down,” Fisk told them. “And get ready to go interview these women.” He passed each team a printout from Wade. “Wade did a little research while you were otherwise engaged.”

“What’s Charlie Brown doing up here?” Marty asked, catching sight of Skippy in the holding cell. “We got this in the bag. He may look innocent, but—”

“Take a look at that printout,” Fisk advised before Marty could dig himself too deep.

“Oh, shit,” Marty said.

“What?” Jim asked.

“We got us a little made-for-TV movie here,” Marty said.

Fisk, Wade, and Marc filled the other detectives in on their theory.

Jim sighed. “Okay, I get it. But, let’s switch, okay? Tom and Marty take Mallory Keaton, Karen and I will rough up Elyse.”

“Can I come?” Wade asked hopefully.

“Nah,” Tom said.

“Someone’s gotta keep the lieutenant company in the observation room,” Karen said kindly.


* * *


“So, Mrs. Keaton,” Karen said, bursting into the room. She wanted to get this over with, and she didn’t want to get locked in again. “You got an ID? You want us to take your fingerprints? Or shall we just get out an old copy of the Betty Broderick Story?”

Jim slipped into the seat across from the woman.

“What’s going on?” Elyse asked, her voice wavering. “The other detectives couldn’t get the door open…”

“Andrew Anderson, that name ring a bell?” Jim asked.

“No.”

“Or perhaps Alex P. Keaton?” Karen supplied.

“Everyone’s heard of Alex P. Keaton,” Elyse said, sounding annoyed.

Karen smiled and leaned in behind the woman. “You bitter? Because how many people remember Elyse Keaton’s first name?”


* * *


Wade Preston leaned close to the mirror, watching the first interview room, memorizing every movement Mallory made.

“They won’t be mean to her, will they?” he asked the lieutenant.

Fisk smiled a little, staring out the window. “One thing you gotta learn in detective work, Preston, is how to be impartial.”

“Yeah, but—”

“You can’t let a pretty face sway you.”

“I don’t think she did it. I think the blonde lady did it.”

Fisk grimaced. “We’ll see. I trust Tom and Marty.”

Wade looked through the glass.

“You were dating that guy with the big hair in the show, right?” Marty asked.

“Nick?” Mallory asked.

“Yeah, him. What was up with that?”


* * *


“I don’t believe it,” Marty said after all the interviews were over. “Elyse Keaton was the perp, after all. Killed the man in cold blood.”

“Yeah,” Tom said, “she seemed like such a nice lady.”

“Must have been all those warped 80s movies she was in,” Karen offered.

Wade huddled in one of the desk chairs, not looking at the detectives as they wrapped it all up and called the DA. He stared instead at the light on Jim’s desk, wrapping the leather coat around himself and frowning.

“What’s up, Wade?” Karen asked. “Sounds like you solved this case.”

“We’re never going to let you out of our sight again, of course,” Marty said.

“Yeah, that was harsh, man, locking us up,” Tom agreed.

“Wade?” Karen asked.

Wade rubbed his hand over his mouth, deep in thought. Now that Mallory was freed from the murder charges, he had a sense of foreboding. Was he really going to marry that girl?