The Navidson Vice Department smelled like an institution.
Ancient coffee grinds mingled with stale cigarette smoke in the air while the tang of cleaning chemical lingered long after Flores and her cleaning crew came through in the small hours of the morning. Dust, paper, cheap suits, shoe polish, sweat, Helen's overly floral perfume.
The detectives in the bullpen where mostly hip-deep in casework by two in the afternoon, the large window panes on the west side of the room spilling sunlight across their hunched shoulders and manila folders. Helen had the radio turned to an oldies station again, so Elvis crooned softly over the scratching of pens and shuffling of papers.
Sergeant Weissberg stalked through the tableau with his usual irritated expression. It twisted the burn scars that blanketed the right side of his skull into even starker relief against his otherwise handsome face.
"Creed, Miller." He dropped a slim folder on their shared desk, his one eye swiveling between the two of them. "Catch Sasquatch yet?"
Feet resting on his desk, Creed squints at Weissberg from over the file he is idly flipping through. Letting out a long sigh, he lowers the folder, "Don't know how to break this to you Sarge, turns out the prick's been banging your wife for months now. I were you I'd check that kid for hairy feet when she finally pops it out. Just to be sure."
Charlie glances up from the report he's writing on their last case...alone, again.
Fighting a smirk at his ageing partner's comment, he raises an eyebrow towards the Sergeant, "Got something for us sir?"
Nearby, Detective White stifles a suspiciously cheerful cough as Weissberg clenches his teeth behind thin lips. The tendons on the burnt half of his face twitch briefly before he composes himself.
"Cut the s+*~, Creed," he snaps, flipping open the case file. Nearly illegible chicken scratch covers the first visible sheet of paper--a death certificate.
"Since last week the number of heroin ODs at Rosewood ER have tripled," he says, stabbing a finger onto the 'cause of death' line. "Five deaths so far. Somebody's got a hot batch out there, and I want them off the streets. Think you can handle that?"
Charlie sets his report on the small pile at the edge of his desk. Yet another bogus call about ghosts haunting a warehouse at the edge of town. Just squatters scaring some local kids up to no good. These profound wastes of time had filled most of his days since joining the force. Worst part was, he knew there were things he couldn't explain out there, but thus far he hadn't caught more than a whiff of it since...since the end of his army days.
Leaning forward to get a better look at the death certificate, Charlie frowns, At least this one might end up helping people...Isn't that why I'm here?
"Any of the victims know each other? Gang affiliations? No chance the dose was spiked to hit a specific target?"
Hardly glancing at the file, Creed snorts, "Nah, just gullible consumers. Kids these days have no idea what they're buying. Somebody tells 'em it'll take them away from their dreary lives for a day and they fork over their cash in a heartbeat...", he smiles to himself slightly, "bless their hearts."
"They're just junkies." Weissberg dismisses Charlie's questions with that one statement while glaring at Creed. "It doesn't look like this was intentional. The guys downstairs think something might have contaminated the batch, but nobody's gotten their hands on any of the product yet."
"Check out emergency in Rosewood, shake down some of your pals, and leave the voodoo dolls in the desk. I want names and I want the product. Nothing fancy, nothing weird." Weissberg steps back from the desk. "Got it?"
Without waiting for a response he heads back to his desk across the room. White looks up from his casework and raises his eyebrows at Creed.
"You're gonna give that boy a heart attack," he murmurs.
The file folder on the desk contains more information, but not much. There are copies of the death certificates of each victim, a brief statement from a doctor, and a few black and white photos of the deceased clipped to the back.
Charlie shrugs as Weissberg retreats to his desk, and glances at his partner, Voodoo dolls. Old man's probably got a half dozen stashed in the damn coat..."
Taking the file, he unclips the photos of the victims and tosses them over on Creed's desk, "Here. Any of your "Friends" in the bunch?"
Creed makes the jerk-off motion at the Sergeant's back, chuckling in White's direction, "That's the stick so far up that boy's ass it's threatening to block his arteries. Very little to do with me."
Finally swinging his feet off the desk, Creed picks up the photos and flips through the faces for anyone he might recognise.
Hunching over, Charlie spreads the remaining contents of the file out on his desk and begins examining it.
The death certificates and autopsy reports make for dry reading, for the most part, detailing the usual effects of long term drug addiction on the human body. The clinical descriptions of wounds, scars, and infections pale next to the haggard faces of the dead strewn on the worn wooden desk next to them. Two of the deceased are Does, while the other three are Marvin Thompson, Beatrice Donall, and Maria Estevez. Marvin and Beatrice had fairly long rap sheets, and Charlie actually arrested Marvin last month for possession. Maria and the Does (a middle-aged white man missing two fingers on his right hand and a young Native or Latina woman with a small scar on her lower lip) aren't known to the police force, but shared their habits with Marv and Bea.
The doctor's statement concerns the Jane Doe, running down the treatment she received at the ER--which was mostly taking a cold corpse's pulse and calling the code. One small amendment to the statement stands out:
Patient showed discoloration around injection site consistent with M.R. and T.I. - Dr. Richard Rosen
There's something more about the Jane Doe, though this doesn't come out of the file folder - this comes from Creed's trips out to the reservation. She's April Bone, the niece of Chief Gordon Bone, and she turned seventeen just a few months ago.
Charlie sighs heavily as he flips to Marvin's death certificate, Christ. I just had this one in a few weeks ago. Glad to see I was able to get through to him... He takes a sip of coffee and tries to remember what his last encounter with the man had been like?
Unfortunately he there's nothing that sticks out. The young veteran sighs, rubbing his temples, "I must be getting jaded. I just talked to this guy last month and I can't remember a damn thing about him save his face and love of opiates."
Creed laughs, "Give it another ten years you'll lose the faces too kid. I can't even remember what the ex wife looked like anymore. These days I just picture the old gargoyle above the baptist church..."
"Still, locals the lot of 'em so they'll have a local suppliers. Either they got the hots by accident or they'll have some idea who's muscling in on their territory.", leaning back in his chair, Creed runs through a list of potential starting points among his varied contacts.
Only a couple guys moving smack locally. Low level trash like this probably had their hookup with Caesar.
Standing, Creed pulls his trademark worn duster off his chair and shrugs into it, "I'm going for a drive kid."
Charlie raises his eyebrows, "Forgetting something old-timer?", grabbing the keys off his desk, he shakes them in Creed's direction, "We can both go. I wanna make a call first."
Turning back to his desk, Charlie grabs the phonebook from beside his chair and flips through till he lands on the Rosewood Hospital's number. Dialing the number into his worn, fifth hand rotary phone, Charlie identifies himself as Officer Miller and asks to be transferred to Dr.Rosen once the receptionist picks up.
Creed gives his wet-behind-the-ears partner a withering scowl, F%*~ing DUI. Never seen Weissberg so damn smug in his miserable life.
"Fine.", he growles, "Make it quick. I'm gonna get some more coffee.", spinning on his heel, Creed stalks off, glaring daggers at everyone he passes, just daring them to open their mouths.
Detective White doesn't need to say anything to express his amusement, just raise one brow slightly as Creed walks by. He's not a man of many words, but he tends to get his point across all the same.
"Rosewood Memorial Hospital, good afternoon," the woman who answers the phone chirps, "I'm afraid Dr. Rosen is in surgery at the moment, but I can have him call you back in about an hour. May I ask what this is regarding?"
Helen sits right next to the coffee maker and the small lunchroom--she tells people her most important job is keeping her boys awake and fed. Officially, she's a civilian liaison, but most of the detective still call her a secretary.
"Milk and sugar," she says, pushing a warm mug Creed's way with a sparkle in her eyes.
Helen is almost as much an institution as the precinct headquarters themselves, with her imitation pearls and sensible brown loafers. She keeps a bowl of inedible hard candies on her desk that make great ammunition for elastic band slingshots.
As usual Helen's overly cheerful demeanor puts a dent in Creed's foul mood. He takes the cup and smiles half-heartedly, "Thanks Hel. I swear one of these days I'm gonna put that kid out a damn window."
Taking a slow sip of the coffee, he leans against the desk and waits impatiently for Charlie to finish.
Charlie sighs, "I just have a couple follow up questions about deceased Jane Doe that came in recently. Actually, maybe you can help me ma'am. Would you know offhand what the abbreviations M.R or T.I. stand for? Something about a discolored injection site but I'm afraid my medical knowledge is somewhat limited."
"Oh..." The receptionist trails off, her chipper tone faltering. "Ah, I'm afraid I don't know. The Jane Doe, huh?"
"Oh, don't say that." Helen ashes her cigarette and smiles warmly. "Someone has to file your paperwork. So..." she lowers her glasses and leans in, conspiratorially, "Anything juicy?"
Helen is a bit of an enthusiast when it comes to police work.
"Um, would you maybe want to talk to one of the nurses who were there?" It's easy to picture the hospital receptionist twirling the phone cord around her finger. Her nervousness bleeds through the line. "I think Grace is around...hey, Marcie, have you seen Grace?"
Hearing the receptionist's uncomfortable tone, Charlie shifts in his chair, embarrassed with himself, "I'm uh, sorry ma'am. It's really nothing interesting. Just making sure I uh, have all my...ducks in a row. You know how it is.", he clears his throat awkwardly, partially regaining his composure, "One of the nurses would be great. Thank you ma'am."
Creed chuckles, "Aye, I guess he does have his uses. Weissberg hasn't pestered me nearly as much about reports since the kid started. Saves me the effort of telling him to f&@$ off, so I guess that's something.", taking another sip of coffee, he leans in closer to the aging receptionist, with a similarly conspiratorial tone, "Best be careful where you get your party favours for the next while Hel. There's a hot batch on the streets...wracked up a handful of bodies already and we're like to see more before it's through."
Helen flushes and smacks Creed's arm lightly with her newspaper, mischief in her small smile.
"Vincent Creed, you awful man," she tuts,"Tell me more when you get back."
"Grace? Grace! Hey, Grace--" At the desk, the phone line goes muffled for a moment. All Charlie can make out is slightly harried female voices, before the phone is cradled to a new ear.
"This is Grace." Her voice is tired and soft, but still pleasant. "You have some questions about our Jane Doe?"
Clearing his throat an unnecessary second time, Charlie does his best to sound professional, "Hello ma'am, Officer Miller here. I have the report here in front of me and I'm hoping you can tell me more about the discoloring at the injection site mentioned by the doctor. I see the abbreviations M.R.and T.I used. You'll forgive me but I'm not entirely sure what those would be referring to? I'd appreciate any help you could offer?"
"Hey, don't knock it till you try it. Might just open your eyes.", despite his smile, it's uncertain if the grizzled cop is joking or not.
Downing the last of his coffee, Creed deftly pockets a couple of the hard candies from Helen's desk and heads back to check on Charlie.
"Those might be other patients," Grace says, hesitantly. "I'm...not sure this is something we should discuss over the phone."
Charlie's brow furrows in concern at the nurse's hesitance, "Other patients? Those initials don't match the other OD's I have on file. I'm willing to come in person if you insist but the clock is ticking here ma'am. The longer it takes to get these drugs off the street, the more people who are at risk."
There's a long moment of silence.
"They didn't die," she says, suddenly low and intent, "One of them is still here. He's in room 23, 5th floor. Nobody told you that?" She stops, briefly. "Whatever is in this new stuff, it's organic. I heard the path doctors talking about it."
The crease in Charlie's brow deepens, he couldn't imagine the Sarge had missed this? But why in the world wouldn't it be in the file?
He hesitates a long moment before responding, "I...Thank you very much ma'am. Must have been a miscommunication somewhere. Is the patient conscious? Regardless, I'll be over shortly. I'd like to have a word with Dr.Rosen personally. Could you let him know my partner and I will be there later this afternoon?"
"He's conscious, for what it's worth," Grace says, "I don't know how much longer we're going to be able to hang onto him. I'll tell Dr. Rosen to expect you."
"Thank you ma'am. We'll hurry.", Charlie hangs up the phone and blows out a long stream of air. Catching sight of Creed he waves the older man over, he keeps his voice low, "Just got off the phone with the hospital. Apparently they have another victim in the ICU. The nurse says he's awake. I told here we'd be right there to question him."
Charlie licks his lips nervously, "Creed. Why the hell wasn't this in the file? According to the nurse, there were several other victims, all still alive, I...I didn't ask where the rest went. Nurse said whatever's in this batch is biological. What the hell does that mean? I've never heard of Heroin carrying bacteria, have you?"
Creed's expression darkens steadily as the young vet talks, but whatever he's thinking, Creed keeps it to himself. He simply curses under his breath before jerking his head towards the street, "Grab your jacket and pull the damn car around Jeeves. We're moving."
Charlie rolls his eyes, but hurriedly grabs his stuff and hustles to get the car all the same.
Pulling around the front of the precinct, he speeds off towards the Rosewood Hospital as soon as Creed slides into the passenger seat.
Rosewood Memorial Hospital was founded almost at the same time as Navidson itself, and it shows in its rambling structure and generations of buildings. Elegant turn of the century charm sits next to modern concrete and glass on the wide hospital grounds. Most people need a map to navigate it, but Creed isn't most people.
Not that it matters much--the new ER building stands out with the cranes and construction markers proliferating around it.
When the detectives pull up a slender blonde in blue scrubs with her hair in a rough bun turns away from the paramedic she was deep in conversation with outside the front doors and makes a beeline for their vehicle as they park in one of the designated emergency zones.
"Are you here about the overdoses?" Charlie will recognize Grace's voice.
Creed spots the attractive nurse heading their way immediately, "Looks like you made an impression kid. Just keep your mind on the job son, gotta get some answers out of this junkie before he kicks it."
Stepping out of the car, Creed heads around front and sits casually on the hood as the young woman reaches them. The talking he leaves to Charlie, content to merely admire the view for the moment.
The nurses' speed has Charlie on edge as he steps out of the car. He does his best to smile as she approaches, "That's us ma'am. Grace, right? We spoke on the phone? Thanks for meeting us. Can you take us to the patient we spoke about? What about Dr.Rosen? Is he out of surgery yet?"
Grace has her arms folded tight across her chest, tired determination evident in the set of her jaw.
"He's just finishing up. I haven't had a chance to talk to him yet. Isabel is on it." She tucks some loose strands of hair behind her ear. "But yeah, let's get you upstairs. Come on."
"He's been here two days--he came in right after the girl," Grace says as they walk, pushing through the hospital doors and crowds efficiency, "We've been stalling to keep him here, but there's only so much we can do, you know?"
"I still can't believe no one told you," she mutters as they step onto the elevator.
"Carrier pigeon must have gotten lost...", Creed says absently, his attention fixed on the people they pass. His gaze sweeping over each face suspiciously as he shoulder's people aside, "Stalling from what? Where did this girl end up? The kid said your other patients hadn't kicked it yet?"
The patients and staff they pass aren't remarkable--it's the regular mix of harried expressions, pain, and confusion. Rosewood Memorial ER serves a fairly beleaguered demographic.
"He wants to get out and score," Grace says, leaning against the elevator wall and looking up at the ceiling, "And the girl ended up in the morgue. The rest of our overdoses have checked themselves out."
"The rest of them kept their arms, though." She lowers her gaze to the detectives, her mouth in a thin line. "We had to amputate. The...discoloration, that's what he called it? It spread. Do you have any idea where this is coming from?"
Charlie grimaces, silently urging the elevator to move faster, "That's terrible. Ah, nothing...nothing definitive yet. But you can rest assured, our full attention is committed to finding the source of these drugs and we will get them off the streets. My word on it."
Shouldn't make promises like that kid. Hate to have to wash our hands of this one after you go and say something stupid like that.
Creed taps his foot impatiently, "Girl in the morgue. Wagon burner, just shy of legal? Or did our report shortchange us another one?"
Grace briefly grimaces at Creed's colorful terminology--an odd reaction from a hardened ER nusre: "Yeah, that's the one."
The elevator dings open and Grace strides to room 23, resting a hand on the door and turning back to the detectives with a quirked brow: "Don't give him a hard time, all right? He's not a bad guy."
With that, she pushes the door open, smiling with a warmth she's yet to show the detectives. "Mr. Inez, how are you feeling?"
"Hey, pretty lady!" The man in the bed looks like nothing so much as well-chewed jerky, his dark brown skin nicked with numerous scars and abrasions. His eyes are almost shockingly bright, though, especially for a man missing his right arm below the elbow. "Any news on my ride out of here??"
"Not yet, Mr. Inez." Grace motions at Creed and Charlie. "These men have a few questions for you, though. Do you feel up to answering them?"
"You brought me cops, mi corazon?" 'Mr. Inez' folds his good hand over his chest, looking wounded. "You hurt me."
"Don't sass me," Grace says, supressing a smile as she walks over to fluff his pillows. "You're not in trouble. Right, gentlemen?"
Creed smiles at the exchange between nurse and patient, glad to see the man had a sense of humor at least. He'd always found the funny ones easier to deal with. He scoffs as he steps in the small room, "Parish the though my friend. We just need to know how you came to be laid up here?", coming around the far side of the hospital bed, he gestures to the man's fresh stump, "I imagine you're suffering a mean case of buyer's remorse from your last fix, no?"
In the elevator, Charlie mirrors the nurse's grimace at Creed's remark and shoots Grace an apologetic look behind the older man's back.
Once at the hospital room, Charlie slips in right behind his brash partner, wincing again at Creed's usual off-putting conversation style. Clearing his throat, he tries to step in before Creed upsets the man, his voice slightly uneven but sympathetic, "Mr.Inez. Ah, what my partner is trying to say is that we need your help. I know you must still be reeling from what happened to you, but any information you can provide us about where the drugs came from would be critical in making sure no one else suffers as you have."
"Call me Tio." Tio settles back onto his newly fluffed pillows, still smiling guileless, despite--or possibly because of--Creed's bluntness. "That's funny, man. What's the saying, though? Caveat emperor?"
He laughs raspily, shifting in bed, and looks to Grace beseechingly.
"I'm dying of thirst over here, beautiful. Think you could get me some juice?"
"Of course, Mr. Inez." Grace is smart enough not to waste her warning glance on Creed, instead shooting it at Charlie on her way out.
Tio maintains his easy smile until the door closes behind Grace.
"Caveat emperor," he repeats, with a bitter note, and wariness shutters his features, "Man, you know I'm not talking. Come on."
Creed sighs sympathetically, "Yeah, yeah I know. You knew the risks from the get go right? Yeah, well...", the old cop's expression darkens, as if another ten years were added to his already worn face, "Not everyone understands what they're getting into. Fifteen year old girl having a hard time adjusting without her parents isn't likely to be nearly so informed about her bad decisions, eh?", he looks down again at Tio's fresh stump, "Whatever took that arm is nasty business. One way or another you made it to the hospital in time though, had it looked after properly...what would you have done if you hadn't? Maybe it was your leg instead? Maybe, just maybe, it got so bad you grabbed a kitchen knife and tried to deal with it yourself? Course...a femur's mighty hard to get through without a saw.", his eyes return to Tio's, haunted eyes unfocused, "Even now it's hard to believe all that blood was hers..."
After a moment of silence, Creed shakes his head, seeming to pull himself back to the present, "Look. You're already up s+@# creek on this one my friend. Partner and I aren't going to let this one go...we can't. That means at some point we're gonna put enough pressure on your source, they either assume you talked during our little visit, or that they just need to tie up as many loose ends as possible. Either way, they'll come for you sooner or later. You throw us a bone here and now, I'll help you lay low for a bit, or get out of town if that's what you want. But...just help us do right by her. Please."
Charlie just stands in stunned silence, trying to figure out what his partner is on about. Old case maybe? Jesus Creed, have you been carrying this around the whole time? No wonder you're so s&##ty to everyone...
Tio reaches across his chest to gently cradle his stump as Creed speaks, eyes wide.
"I...look, I'm sorry, man, that's--that's f&~$ed up." He sucks a breath through his stained teeth. "I never had to be in no hospital before for the junk, all right? I shoot clean. I swear, I swear I do, sterile and everything, I wash up good, I ain't never gotten sick like this."
"S@&*." He closes his eyes and lets his head fall back. "If he's letting kids do this s%%#...f*$~ 'im. It was C, okay? Caesar. He told me he got this wild stuff off some guy out of town. Didn't say nothing about f~+$ing mold."
He cracks his eyes open and smiles joylessly: "You see that f!&#er, you give him one for Tio, okay? And your girl."
Creed smiles morosely, "We will friend, we will. You look out for yourself alright? Keep your head down, or better yet, down far from here for a while."
Clapping Tio lightly on the shoulder, he makes for the door, "Come'on kid lets let Tio here rest. We've got a scumbag to visit..."
Shaking his head to focus, Charlie gives a slight awkward bow in Tio's direction, "Right, thanks you for your assistance Mr.Inez. My, ah condolences."
Following Creed into the hall, Charlie shuts the door to Tio's room carefully before rounding on his partner in an exasperated tirade as he struggles to keep his voice low enough not to carry, "What the hell was that Creed? What girl are you on about? Sure as hell wasn't in the file! Have you seen this kind of thing before? That information I damn well need! I'm supposed to be your f+@@ing partner, old man!