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Post by Jordanna on Feb 1, 2006 0:03:19 GMT -5
Alex rubbed his face, determined to hold himself together, for Sid and the children's sakes. The Rosenstein family had cared for him for eight years; this was his chance to take care of them for a change, and he wasn't going to let them down.
"Poor Tara," he said softly, thinking of what it must have been like for the fourteen-year-old to find her mother like that. "I don't know whether to go see the kids, or try to get a grip on Sid."
He glanced at Daws. There were a lot of questions he wanted to ask her, now that they had taken stock of what happened--but he knew that would have to wait until the cops had cleared out.
He only hoped Tony Comancini didn't somehow get wind of this and show up unannounced. Between him and Daws and the police, all they'd need was a big tent to complete the circus.
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Post by skybright on Feb 1, 2006 0:34:37 GMT -5
Daws looked around. Sid -- it had to be him, nobody else in the room was near-catatonic with grief -- was still sitting where Malone had left him. She took Malone's arm and guided him carefully a few steps away from the huddle of cops and the terribly still form on the floor.
"I hate to say it," She said quietly, "But the kids might be able to tell us something. Right now, I think the best thing is to get as much information together as we can. How old is the oldest girl -- Tara?" In response to Malone's muttered 'fourteen', Daws nodded.
"Maybe she saw something, heard something -- anything. Maybe." She sighed, and glanced over her shoulder at the assembled cops. Then she gestured to a lone young patrolwoman who was looking around nervously, as if she wasn't sure where to stand.
The dark-haired young woman edged over, eyeing Daws' fedora and trenchcoat and assigning -- as Daws had suspected she would -- an instant level of authority to the mutant detective. "Yes?"
Daws glanced at the woman's name badge. "Officer . . . Anacker, we're gonna check on the kids. Would you mind running upstairs and letting me know when the ME gets here?"
Anacker nodded enthusiastically. "Sure thing, ma'am."
Daws grinned in thanks and nudged Malone's elbow. "Which way?"
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Post by Jordanna on Feb 1, 2006 20:59:48 GMT -5
Alex was torn between obeying Daws and staying with Sid, but he finally resolved his conflict in favor of her judgment, and led her toward the stairs. He had to ask one of the uniforms which room Consuela and the kids were in; it turned out to be the maid's, at the end of the hall. Reaching it, he glanced at Daws and then knocked softly before opening the door.
Consuela Ramirez was sitting in an armchair, a string of rosary beads in one hand and the other resting on the head of Tara. The girl was kneeling on the floor next to the chair, her face buried in the folds of Consuela's bathrobe. The younger children, Holly and Caleb, were sprawled on the maid's bed--asleep.
The maid raised a finger to her lips. "Shh. The little ones do not yet know, Mister Malone. I--"
She cut herself off abruptly as she noticed Daws over Alex's shoulder. Her eyes went wide, and she muttered something that sounded like "gato de diablo", or some similarly appropriate Spanish phrase.
Alex scowled at the servant, but he kept his tone low. "I need to talk to Tara."
At the sound of his voice, Tara raised her head and turned to look at him, then shot up off the floor and into his arms. "Alex..." she sobbed quietly against him.
Alex swallowed hard and blinked, cradling the girl's head against him with one hand. The shock and sadness were fading. Now he was angry--murderously angry at whoever it was that had caused this grief.
"Will you come talk with me?" he asked quietly. Tara nodded against his ribs, and he put his arm around her, guiding her down the hall to her own room. He glanced at Daws and tilted his head, prompting her to follow.
In Tara's room, Alex sat down with Tara on the edge of the bed. She clung to him, but he pulled her back just enough to look at her face. When she looked up at him, he gestured toward Daws.
"Honey, this is Miss Dawson." He squeezed Tara's shoulder as she flinched slightly at her first sight of the mutant. "It's okay. She's going to help us find out what happened to your mom."
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Post by skybright on Feb 1, 2006 23:59:13 GMT -5
Daws pushed her fedora back so the girl could get a good look at her face -- though to be honest, she wasn't sure what a good idea that was. She did her best to speak gently.
"Tara, you can just call me Daws -- most of my friends do. I'm a private detective. And I really, really want to . . ." to kill the guy who could break the heart of a sweet kid like you. "To get to the bottom of all of this.
"I know it's a ratty thing to ask of you," Daws sighed and crouched down so she'd be closer to the girl's level, "But I need you to tell me everything that happened tonight, starting when you got home from school today right up through right now." She glanced at Malone and added gently, "Take all the time you need. Try to remember everything you can."
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Post by Jordanna on Feb 2, 2006 21:09:45 GMT -5
A sudden flush of near-panic filled Tara's face. "You think somebody killed Mom, don't you...?" she cried in a near-squeal, clutching at Alex's arm.
Alex made a quieting noise and hugged her, laying his cheek on the top of her head as he rocked her gently. "We don't know that. Right now, we don't know anything. That's why we've got to ask these questions." He drew back and looked at her gravely. "Try to tell us."
"But nothing happened last night!" Tara protested, her eyes filling with tears again.
Alex leaned over and took a box of tissues from the dresser, setting it in her lap. Then he put one arm around her, and placed his free hand over hers. "Please, sweetie."
Enfolded in Alex's protective embrace, Tara stared back at Daws uneasily, and at last began to talk in a trembling voice--going through plenty of those tissues as she did so.
"We came home from school and had dinner... and then Dad went to work. Then, Mom... Mom helped us with our homework... and we watched TV for a while until bedtime. I went to sleep. It was a little after two in the morning when I woke up and wanted a drink of water. I went downstairs, and I found..." Tara folded up again, collapsing into Alex's arms and shaking with sobs.
Alex stroked Tara's bowed back and kissed her head. Fumbling a tissue out of the box with one hand, he hastily wiped his eyes, then looked across the girl's prostrate form at Daws. He was sure there were no answers to be gleaned from that tragic testimony--but he couldn't keep a plea for them from showing in his expression.
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Post by skybright on Feb 2, 2006 23:19:20 GMT -5
Daws sighed deeply, rubbing her face and suddenly feeling much older than her years. The girl knew nothing -- except that her mother was dead, and her world had shattered. She cleared her throat and met Alex Malone's eyes.
They held an expression she knew far too well -- a silent begging for answers, for order, for a return to a world where things made sense. People looked at her with that expression far too often.
Daws wished desperately that she could give these people their answers; but right now she'd have to settle for asking her own questions, and hoping that they led to the answers everyone needed. She sighed and nodded. "Thank you, Tara. I . . ."
She paused. Jack Knight had told her time and time again not to promise the clients anything; but Jack wasn't here, and Daws was, and she knew somehow that she'd already made this case personal. She cleared her throat and said again "I promise you, sweetheart, that I'm gonna do everything I can to figure this out. Word of honor." She paused and added quietly "Last question, I promise; what time did you kids go to bed last night?"
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Post by Jordanna on Feb 2, 2006 23:34:45 GMT -5
"We go to bed at nine-thirty on school days," Tara answered. She paused, then added quietly, "I heard the phone ring downstairs as I was closing the door of my room. I think it was Dad."
"It was," Alex put in. "He told me he was going to his office to call home." He would have pointed out that the recent extortion threat had made Sid more anxious about his family than usual, but he couldn't mention that in Tara's presence. Daws could probably guess as much, anyway.
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Post by skybright on Feb 3, 2006 1:01:54 GMT -5
Daws nodded. "Thank you, Tara." She stood up and straightened her fedora. At least that gave her some sort of timeframe for the death, although it was still a wide one. It was something, anyway.
At that moment someone knocked gently on the half-opened door of the bedroom. It was officer Anacker, one dark eyebrow raised as she said "Um, Ma'am? The ME's downstairs. He's been here a few minutes now."
Daws nodded. "Thank you, officer." She glanced over her shoulder at Alex Malone, who was gently rocking Tara back and forth. She met his eyes and indicated that she was leaving the room; then she followed officer Anacker without waiting to see if the entertainer would follow.
Daws trailed the policewoman back downstairs, to where a portly middle-aged man in a white lab coat had joined the knot of officials around Caroline Rosenstein's body. He glanced up as Daws approached, took in her odd appearance with a cool manner that seemed to say he'd seen a lot weirder, and returned to tucking the tools of his trade back into his black bag.
Daws cleared her throat. "Doctor?"
He didn't look up. "You'll be the friend -- the detective."
"Yes." She lowered her voice, "Look, Doc, I know you can't officially tell me anything . . . ."
"Can't tell ya anything unofficially, either." He said briskly. "I've got nothing to tell. COD's going to have to wait for the autopsy; there's something off about her liver temp, so I can't even give you a TOD." He looked up, faintly apologetic. "Sorry."
Daws sighed and nodded politely -- although internally she was cursing in two or three different languages. "Thank you anyway, Doc."
"Sure." He looked like he was about to say something more, but then he simply shook his head, snapped his bag closed, and straightened. "I guess you know what the drill is from here."
"Yeah." Daws nodded. She'd have to try contacting the ME's office tomorrow if she wanted any information about what had killed Caroline Rosenstein.
Daws drifted away from that end of the room as an assistant pathologist moved in to remove what had once been a wife and mother. She glanced around at the milling cops and at Sid Rosenstein, who had hardly moved.
Well, She thought wearily, Now what?
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Post by Jordanna on Feb 3, 2006 20:39:56 GMT -5
Tara was either calming down or going into shock; she had stopped crying, but Alex wasn't exactly sure that was a good sign. After spending a few more moments comforting her, he took her back to Consuela's room, where she simply climbed onto the bed next to her sleeping siblings and curled into a fetal position.
Alex exchanged an unhappy look with Consuela. The plump, middle-aged maid still had a rosary in her hands, joined now by an open Bible on her lap.
"Add a prayer for me?" he requested ruefully.
Consuela nodded solemnly. "I will, Mister Malone."
Those who knew Alex as the inexhaustible Foxy Malone would hardly have recognized the weary young man who slowly made his way down the stairs. For a brief moment, the thought of having to smile for that audience again anytime soon loomed up at him like a menacing ghost, and he pushed it away. That was the burden of celebrity, the difficult part that others never considered: the constant necessity of a cheerful and amusing mask, no matter how he really felt. Alex had seen some great comics grow prematurely old from internalizing less trouble than he had to deal with now.
He saw Daws talking to a man in a lab coat, but did not approach her, feeling a sudden indifference to whatever the officials could tell them. He was convinced now that Sid's extortioners were responsible for this--and Daws had told him she knew who they were. All he wanted now was for this crowd of people to go away, so she could tell him everything she knew.
For the time being, Alex turned to the grief-stricken man on the sofa. Although Sid would doubtless have wanted him to look after the children first, he felt guilty for leaving his broken friend alone for so long. Sid's face was still buried in his hands--but when Alex sat down beside him, Sid reached out and gripped his arm, without looking up.
"The kids?" he murmured faintly.
"Upstairs, with Consuela. Caleb and Holly don't know yet." Alex put his hand on Sid's shoulder. "Sid, I... I'm just so sorry." An ugly feeling stirred in him as he thought of the still-murky connection between his first visit to Daws and what was happening now. If he bore any part of the blame for this, he didn't think he would ever have any humor to share on the stage again.
Sid raised his head slowly. His eyes were reddened and puffy, but his tears had dried up.
"I just wanna know why."
The words gave Alex a sharper pang. Even in his devastated condition, Sid had put the pieces together, and had clearly come to the same conclusion Alex and Daws already took as a fact.
A part of Alex--the part that tried insidiously to forget what he was and look at things from a normal, reasonable point of view--wanted to go straight over to the cops and tell them everything he knew. But the small voice of fear that was never entirely silent held him back. He knew the concerns Sid had expressed to him before were all too well-founded. If word of organized mutant criminals spread, the public reaction would be disastrous enough--but the Comancini family's vengeance would be far more terrible and swift. As it was, Tony Comancini would be out for blood if even a whisper of foul play was exposed... and he was no friend to mutants under even the best of circumstances.
Alex glanced over at Daws. If the truth did break loose, he had a vague fear that with such an obvious mutation, she would be one of the first to get hurt.
He shook his head and tried to pull his thoughts together. "Listen, Sid," he began softly, squeezing his friend's shoulder. "I brought someone with me. She's a detective, and a mutant. She wants to help--and I think she knows a lot more about these people than we do."
Sid made eye contact at last, with a dishearteningly distant and empty look. "Who?"
Alex turned to look for Daws again. She had moved away from the cluster of cops, and now stood there, looking something like he felt. He sat up straighter, waiting for her to glance his way so that he could motion her over.
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Post by skybright on Feb 4, 2006 0:17:41 GMT -5
Daws caught the motion out of the corner of her eye as Alex Malone came back downstairs, but before she could move to rejoin him another sense caught her attention.
The cops were slowly beginning to drift out of the house -- it would still be a while before they all left, of course, but some of the extraneous personnel had moved on. The room was beginning to quiet, somewhat; the number of extra noises and smells was beginning to drop.
And Daws could smell Nicholas Tiernan.
She recognized the scent, even faint as it was -- the rich cologne, the gentle overtone of flowers she now recognized as coming from Tiernan's garden sanctuary, and the heavy darkness that turned the whole scent from a fine one to a foul one. It was only an echo -- hardly enough to register even with her sense of smell -- but it was there. Which meant Tiernan had been there.
Daws felt a growl build up in her throat and bit it back with some difficulty. All it did was confirm what she'd suspected, that Tiernan was behind the death of Caroline Rosenstein. More to the point, it proved him personally responsible. He'd been here. He'd watched Caroline Rosenstein die.
Regina Dawson was going to make sure he paid for that.
Tiernan, Daws thought bitterly, You don't know just what you've started. She glanced around, noting the pictures on the walls of Caroline and Sid with their smiling children, and clenched her fists. But you're sure gonna find out.
Her wandering glance rested on Malone, who had rejoined Sid Rosenstein on the couch. He caught her eye and motioned her over with a vague gesture.
Daws winced inwardly; she knew she'd eventually have to explain the full gravity of this situation to Rosenstein, but she'd rather hoped that the conversation could have waited until after all the Law cleared out.
No sense putting off the inevitable, Ace. She squared her shoulders, suddenly aware of how tired she was -- she'd gone almost completely without sleep for two nights now -- and headed over to where Malone and Rosenstein were seated.
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Post by Jordanna on Feb 4, 2006 21:39:01 GMT -5
Sid didn't flinch or even look surprised as Daws came over to the two men. He just stared at her, a blank acknowledgment of her presence, and nothing more.
"Sid, this is Regina Dawson," Alex began. "She's a... a friend of mine."
He left it at that. Under any normal circumstances, Sid would realize that Alex had never associated with other mutants, but it would pass for the moment. Alex wasn't any more eager than Daws was to explain their full acquaintance; and in any case, Sid was in no condition to grasp that information. Right now, he just wanted to give Sid a basis for accepting and trusting Daws. They could hash out the facts later.
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Post by skybright on Feb 5, 2006 0:11:01 GMT -5
Daws nodded cordially and doffed her fedora. "Mister Rosenstein. I'm so terribly sorry for your loss." After pausing to see if he was going to respond -- which he didn't -- she added "If . . . there's anything I can do . . . ." It was a cliche, of course, and she winced even as she said it; but with a police official only a few feet away, she didn't think it very prudent to say more. Instead she settled for putting as much feeling into the careworn phrase as she could.
Daws half-held her breath, waiting to see how -- or if, really -- Rosenstein would respond.
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Post by Jordanna on Feb 5, 2006 19:37:03 GMT -5
For a long moment Sid stared at Daws, all but looking through her.
"You're not one of them," he said at last, in a faint, cracked voice. His hands moved restlessly across his lap, as if he were trying to brush away invisible specks of dirt, and he looked around as if searching for something.
"I gotta find where they left the knife. They left a knife before..." He moved to rise.
Alex pulled him back down onto the sofa, gently but firmly. "Whoa, settle down, Sid. If there was a knife, the cops have it by now." That was a suddenly disturbing thought--but an instant later, he dismissed it. Whoever did this had clearly taken care to leave no trace at all, much less such a distinctive signature.
"You're no good for this now, old pal," Alex concluded almost tenderly, putting an arm around Sid's shoulders and letting the older man slump against him. He looked up at Daws.
"Listen, he's a zombie, and you don't look much better..." At least as far as I can tell under all that fur. "I think we'd better give him a sleeping pill and see if he can think at all tomorrow. I'm going to stay here. Maybe you should too--you'll get more sleep that way than if you go all the way back to the city tonight. This morning." Alex rubbed his face and looked at his watch, not quite convinced of what it told him; he wasn't sure he could believe even the simplest laws of reality anymore.
He only knew he would feel a little safer with Daws and that gun of hers in the house.
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Post by skybright on Feb 5, 2006 19:57:34 GMT -5
Daws nodded in agreement. "I appreciate it," She smiled tiredly, "Especially seein' as how I can't drive myself. I can catch a cab or the subway tomorrow morning." She hesitated, and said quietly "And if . . . anything else happens . . . it's better I'm here for it."
She watched mutely as Malone guided his friend to his feet and headed towards the stairs -- presumably in pursuit of the aforementioned sleeping pill. She tagged along, the full weight of the night's exhaustion beginning to settle in.
"You're not one of them." She'd winced at the words, delivered in that hollow tone by that hurting man. She'd spent her entire adult life being tagged as one of "them" -- the muties, the outsiders, the others -- and she'd never minded it much. But that wasn't what Sid Rosenstein meant; he'd meant she wasn't connected to the people who'd threatened his club and murdered his wife.
Except she was; even if the connection was a ruse, it still rankled her. Daws wondered uneasily what Tiernan might require of her as a proof of loyalty -- and what she might or might not be willing to do to keep her cover, to find justice for these people and untold others. She was dressing like an imp to try and snatch the devil.
But "You're not one of them," Sid Rosenstein had said. And some part of Daws latched on to that.
"You're not one of them."
"No," She murmured as she moved to help Malone guide Sid Rosenstein up the stairs, "No, I'm not."
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Post by Jordanna on Feb 5, 2006 23:32:57 GMT -5
Alex deposited the mute and pliant Sid in the master bedroom, trying not to think about the fact that his friend would be sleeping alone here for the first time in sixteen years. He stepped into the bathroom and found some sleeping pills in the medicine cabinet. Dimly he was reminded that he would have to track down some allergy drugs of his own the next day; he'd managed to overlook his symptoms during the crisis (and with some reasonable space between himself and Daws), but they were still there.
He didn't even try to undress Sid. He merely gave him the pill and drew the covers over him. Then he fished around in the closet, producing an extra blanket, which he held out to Daws.
"Unless you want to be someplace else, I guess the couch downstairs..." He shrugged awkwardly. "I'll stay with Tara in her room. I don't think she should be with Holly and Caleb till they... get told." He said it with a wince, knowing he would be the one who had to carry out that terrible task.
"I hope you won't run out on us in the morning," he added quietly, but with a faint trace of... something... in his tone. "I got a lot of questions to ask."
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Post by skybright on Feb 6, 2006 1:12:14 GMT -5
Daws half-smiled as she reached out for the blanket; but her eyes were grave as they met Malone's. "I won't run out on you. Not tomorrow morning, not until we get this thing solved. When you hire Grimalkin, Inc., you hire us till the job gets done."
She folded the blanket over one arm and added "I'll see you in the morning. And I'll answer whatever I can -- for all of you." She nodded at Sid Rosenstein's unconscious figure, then turned for the door. "G'night, Mr. Malone."
She padded downstairs -- risking a glance as she left the hallway to see if the maid was going to try and exorcise her, which seemed vaguely possible -- and tossed the blanket on the couch. The police and emergency vehicles had all cleared out -- it was amazing how a little pull from an official could get the job done in a fraction of the normal time -- and the house was almost eerily quiet. Daws pulled Sweetie from beneath her coat and made a circuit of the ground floor, checking the locks on the doors and windows.
Only then did she return to the couch, shrug out of her coat and set her fedora carefully on the side table. Daws rubbed at bleary eyes and wondered how much sleep any of them could expect to get before tomorrow rolled around.
As soon as she awoke she'd call the Long Island ME's office and see if there was even a faint chance she could observe the autopsy. And after the call, she'd try and explain to this small, shattered family exactly what had caught them up and why -- at least, what little of that she herself knew.
But for now it was -- well, early, really -- and she was bone-tired. Daws stretched out on the Rosenstein's plush couch, pulled the spare blanket halfway over her, and fell almost instantly asleep.
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Post by Jordanna on Feb 6, 2006 21:03:44 GMT -5
After Daws went downstairs, Alex went back to Consuela's room. The maid was still sitting and praying. Tara had apparently cried herself to sleep next to her blessedly unaware siblings.
Alex didn't want her to wake up in the morning and have a scene in front of them, when she remembered what had happened. It would be hard enough for him to explain to them, without hysterics from her.
"Will you take care of Holly and Caleb til tomorrow?" he asked Consuela. She nodded and looked over at the children sympathetically, her lips still moving silently over a prayer.
Satisfied that the younger kids were in good hands, Alex went over to the bed and slowly, gently picked Tara up. She stirred slightly in his arms but did not wake. He carried her back to her bedroom and laid her down on her bed, tucking her in. Then he picked up a spare, decorative pillow from the end of her bed, and made himself as comfortable as he could on a limp purple bean-bag cushion in the corner.
Part of him wanted to believe that when he woke up, none of this would be real... but he knew better.
Alex woke late in the morning, feeling dazed and numb and cold inside--and with a decided crick in his neck. He massaged it with a wince as he struggled up from the shifting depths of the bean-bag. Tara was still asleep, so he crept out of her room and down the stairs.
In the living room, Daws was sprawled on the couch, with the blanket sagging halfway off of her. Holding his breath for the sake of his sinuses, Alex tiptoed across the creaking wood floor and covered her again. For some reason, he couldn't help but smile ruefully at the twitching of her protruding tail-tip; nothing would ever be strange to him anymore, that was certain. He hoped she was having better dreams than his had been.
Feeling the need to do something familiar and comforting--as well as to have a hot meal that might warm the chill in his gut--he shuffled into the kitchen. There he scavenged an assortment of eggs and vegetables and leftover ham from the fridge, and with these he applied himself to making omelettes. The smell and sound of food sizzling on the stove made him feel a little better.
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Post by skybright on Feb 6, 2006 21:25:05 GMT -5
Daws' sense of smell lured her out of a dreamless sleep; Mrs. Marcos in the apartment downstairs must be making omlettes again. But -- confusion filtered in as she woke up -- nothing smelled like it was burning. That definitely wasn't Mrs. Marcos at work.
A moment later Daws remembered where she was; the events of yesterday, last night, and early this morning flooded back over her as she pushed the spare blanket away, yawning wide and rubbing at her eyes.
She could hear a faint humming from the kitchen; it sounded like Malone was awake, anyway. It was nearly ten, if her internal clock was still working.
Time to get moving. She thought, rubbing at her still-stiff shoulder -- lord, the fight with the 'Spooks' seemed a million years ago now. She smoothed vaguely at her wrinkled clothes, ran an ineffective hand through her tousled hair, and wandered into the kitchen.
Alex Malone was at the stove, tending to several omlettes and looking vaguely worried and still-tired. Daws stretched, lashed her tail a few times, and then wandered over and hopped up onto one of the barstools at the breakfast bar. " 'Mornin'." She glanced around the kitchen hopefully. "There wouldn't happen to be a coffeemaker around here, I guess?"
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Post by Jordanna on Feb 6, 2006 22:27:31 GMT -5
Alex smiled wanly at Daws. "Hi... Yeah, there's coffee. I just got it brewing a few minutes ago, so I don't know if it's ready yet." He pointed to the opposite counter with a spatula. Partly because of him and his mania for culinary experiments (which was to their benefit most of the time), the Rosensteins had long ago remodeled their kitchen to near-professional size and equipage.
As Daws went over to investigate the coffeemaker, Alex added unnecessarily, "I guess everyone else is still asleep."
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Post by skybright on Feb 6, 2006 23:28:23 GMT -5
"I suppose so. Can't say I blame them." Daws wandered over and poured herself a cup of black coffee -- it had just finished brewing -- and checked the kitchen clock as she did so. Nearly ten, just like I figured. She glanced around and spotted a telephone -- the old-fashioned corded variety -- on the wall near the dining room.
"I've gotta get in touch with the medical examiner," She said quietly, "And I better do it before it gets much later." She didn't elaborate on the reasons, but from Malone's wince she thought he'd probably guessed them anyways.
She carried her coffee over to the phone, thumbed through the telephone book on the counter, and dialed quickly.
A too-perky receptionist's voice chirped "Long Island Medical Examiner's Office, good morning!"
Daws winced at the high, far-too-excited voice shrilling in her ear, took a slug of coffee, and said "Yeah, this is Regina Dawson with Grimalkin, Incorporated. PI's license number 427. You had a DB come in early this morning from . . ." She glanced at an unopened junk mail envelope and rattled off the Rosenstein's address. "I've been contracted by the family to help them through the legal hoops." Close enough to the truth. "I'd like to know who I'd talk to about the autopsy results."
"O-kay!" The receptionist, Daws decided, was definitely a blonde ex-sorority girl who had been a cheerleader. "Just hold on one second, please!"
There was a pause with the sound of tapping keys in the background, and then the receptionist chirped "We-el, it looks like the ME had that case transferred to the Manhattan ME's office."
"Really?" Daws perked up slightly, "Does the file say why?"
"Um . . . Yeah. 'Similar case, COD match blank'. Means the COD's the same, but unknown in both cases." The receptionist added helpfully "I can give you the number for the Manhattan ME if you want."
"Y'know what, that's okay." Daws half-smiled to herself, "I've got that number already. You have a nice morning." She hung up, took another deep drink of coffee, noted the Rosenstein's telephone number from its pencilled location on the phone base, and then dialed the office number Dr. Miriam Van Linden had given her. After waiting through the standard voicemail recording, Daws said briefly "Doctor Van Linden, this is Regina Dawson. I need to speak to you as soon as possible. Can you please call me at 555-1138? Thanks."
She hung up, finished off her coffee, and wandered back over for a refill. That accomplished -- and with a healthy dose of caffeine now moving through her bloodstream -- Daws turned to Alex Malone.
"So," She said quietly, "You said you had questions for me."
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