"Morning. Tell me what you have, Brice."
"Detective Danes has shown up in a number of videotapes, apparently following Kelsey Stanton."
Komansky interrupts. "Would there be any official reason for him to be at any of the scenes? I seem to remember that a number of her stories are ones involving police support."
"Yes, sir, they are. However, Detective Danes was not on duty for any of those events. I checked the duty log while we were waiting for you."
"Good. Go on."
"Second," Brice continues, "the log also indicates that he was off-duty on the dates of the other abductions."
"All of them?"
"Yes, sir, every last one of them."
"Go on."
"Third, Detective Danes knew Kelsey Stanton and had previously been infatuated with her."
Komansky looks up, his eyes cold, serious. "Says who?"
"I do, sir," CJ speaks up. "Kelsey Stanton was my roommate for a period of three years when she first came to Los Angeles. During that time, Detective Danes was assigned to the Eleventh Precinct. We were partners there, before he made detective. He knew Kelsey. He repeatedly spoke to me about his desire for a closer relationship with her."
"Why didn’t you report it at the time?"
CJ shrugs. "There was nothing to report, sir. It wasn’t inappropriate. It was just unrequited. Kelsey wasn’t interested in him. I thought it was over with, naturally."
"Sir," Bear says, "he’s been on vacation this week. The second day of his vacation corresponds to the date of Ms. Stanton’s abduction."
"Come with me," Komansky orders and leaves the room.
I happily follow. Finally. Action.
He leads us back to another section of the building. We enter the detectives’ room and go over to a desk in the corner. A rumpled looking man is seated behind it. "Thanks for coming in, Vic," Komansky says.
"Glad to help out."
Komansky turns to us, filling us in on what’s going on. "Vic Jerone is Detective Danes current partner. They share this desk. I was wondering if we could take a look in the desk, Vic."
"Of course, sir." He unlocks the drawers and pushes his chair back.
Komansky steps behind the desk and begins systematically looking through it. From the middle drawer comes the usual assortment of office supplies – paperclips, rubber bands, pencils, pens, pushpins, scissors, stapler. He moves to the next one – envelopes, paper, report forms, folders. The last – more folders, copies of reports, a packet of photos.
Komansky hands the photos to Bear. "Look through those, Detective." He kneels down and pulls out the middle drawer, to look for anything that might be taped to the bottom of the drawer. He does this for each of the drawers.
I am growing increasingly despondent over the search when something on the desk captures my eye.
"Those are wrong," I say.
Everyone looks at me.
"The scissors. They’re the wrong type. Those are hair shears, like you’d find at the barber shop or beauty salon."
Komansky looks at Vic. "Those yours?"
"No, sir."
"Our perp cuts his victims’ hair, right?" Komansky asks. The question is rhetorical in nature, I believe. "Brice, get me Danes’ current address. We’re going to pay him a little visit."
I nearly pass out in relief.
Hang on, Kels, the cavalry is coming.
* * *
"You shouldn’t even be here," Bear grumbles. "We’re all taking a hell of a chance by letting you stay." He presses a bulletproof vest into my hands, then hands one to Robie. "Now, put these on and don’t give me any more grief."
"But…" I start to protest.
He puts his hand up, index finger pointing skyward. This is the international sign for ‘you’re pissing me off, now shut up.’ The rest of my complaint dies on my lips. I need to be here and I know Bear will have me carted away if he thinks I’m going to give him trouble.
I nod and silently slip the vest over my head. I watch Robie struggle with his, having never worn one before. I’ll be damned if I’m going to let him get hurt too. "C’mere." I pull him to me and strap the vest into place. It’s sad that I know how to do so. Of course, the way the fuckin’ world is going lately, someday I’m gonna have to put one on my kid before he goes to school.
But, for now, I have to stand back and watch in the predawn light as the FBI and SWAT team get ready to move on the house. God, if Kels is alive, they’ll scare the shit out of her. I let loose a nervous laugh. I hope they do scare the shit out of her. I couldn’t stand the alternative.
Watching the scene, I am glad that these men mean business. Dressed in full entry gear and brandishing submachine guns, it is their plan to enter and enter quickly. They don’t want to give Danes a chance to do anything stupid.
Of course, it’s a bit late at this point.
Bear turns his radio up, setting it on the hood of the car. He hands me a pair of binoculars. "You watch. You listen. You stay here."
I nod, taking the binoculars. I know I don’t have any other choice right now. I glance over to find CJ making her way to us. "You’re not going in with them?"
"I’m not SWAT. They wouldn’t let me if I wanted." She sighs, crossing her arms against her chest. "Besides, I’m not the first person Kelsey needs to see when they bring her out." She gives me a slight, knowing smile.
"Thanks." I like CJ. I doubt if I would be quite so gracious about losing Little Roo.
"I’m glad she’s happy."
"Did Erik tell you that?"
"Numerous times." She wipes away a tear I know she didn’t want me to see. "He always was a little shit."
I wonder who was the first to call him that – CJ or Kels? "I’m sorry about what happened to him."
"So am I. He didn’t deserve it. I hope to hell Danes gives the team a reason to blow his fucking head off."
"Amen to that," I whisper.
"They’re ready," Bear announces, distracting us from our conversation.
I hand Robie the binoculars. I don’t need or want to watch the scene that closely. God, I might be sick. My stomach is sitting somewhere around my knees right now. I can taste fear on the back of my throat.
Just a few more minutes, sweetheart. Hang on.
The radio traffic is fast and somewhat garbled. It reminds me of the day I made entry with the police on what became a hostage situation at Tyler Sagemore’s house. It was the day I shot the footage that put me together with Kels. Who would have guessed six months ago I would be standing out here today? Fate has a strange sense of humor. I sure as hell hope I like the punch line today.
The eight member SWAT team busts the door, the sound deafening to me. There’s nothing subtle or secretive about their approach. They go in fast, loud and aggressive. I hope to hell he’s far away from Kelsey right now.
Five FBI agents follow the SWAT team in. Bear’s radio crackles with life and then goes silent. Dead silent.
Every nerve I have is trying to come through my skin. Someone fuckin’ tell me what’s going on.
Only my heartbeat answers.
"Shots fired! Down, down, down!"
Oh Jesus.
We all stare at the radio waiting for something else to be said. Anything else. Christ, say something!
"Residence secure."
I let out a shuddering breath, collapsing against the car. I know how boneless chicken feels now. My relief is complete.
"Two victims," is the next thing we hear.
Two? He had another woman in there?
"One male. One Female."
Oh, that explains it. The SWAT team shot his ass. Good. Saves me the trouble. But, wait, if there’s a female victim, that means Kelsey … oh God!
"Positive ID on the female victim."
That’s the code phrase Bear gave them to let us know if it was Kels in the house. It’s not part of their normal protocol, but they agreed to at least let us know if she definitely was inside.
"Dispatch two ambulances."
An ambulance. So, she’s alive. She may be hurt, but, thank God, she’s alive!
"Correction. Dispatch one ambulance and the coroner."
<fade out>
See You All Next Season! Well, Maybe.
Special thanks to:
Ruth – Co-conspirator and mirth-maker
Beth and Terry – Cajun experts
Maggie – French tutor
Taylor – Technical advisor
Mary – Sounding board
Human VCRs – Above and beyond the call of duty every week
Our Readers – For making this fun
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