She was about my age, competent as hell, and had an acidic, biting sense of humor that I liked. 'Where are they at on this thing? Have they started processing the scene?'
'Yep,' Alan says, moving down the aisle, sitting closer to us. 'Crime Scene Unit in SF was all over it, with Chang playing the little dictator. I talked to her again at midnight. She already had the body at the coroner's, all the photo work done, and CSU in and out. Fiber, trace, everything. That woman is a slave driver.'
'That's how I remember her. What about the computer?'
'Other than dusting for prints, they haven't touched it.' He jerks a thumb at Leo. 'The Brain told them he'd take care of it.'
I look at Leo, nodding my head. 'What's your plan on that?'
'Pretty simple. I'll do a cursory examination of the PC, check for any booby traps that might have been set to wipe the hard drive, stuff like that. Look for anything immediate. Beyond that, I'll need to take it back to the office to really work on it.'
'Good. I need you to scour her computer, Leo. I need any and all deleted files, including e-mail, pictures, anything--and I mean anything--that can help us on this. He found her through the Internet. That makes the computer his first weapon.'
He rubs his hands. 'Just lemme at it.'
'Alan, you take your usual avenue. Gather up copies of everything SFPD has so far in terms of reports, canvassing, and then second-guess all of it.'
'No problem.'
I turn to Callie. 'You take CSU. They're good up there, but you're better. Try and be nice about it, but if you have to push someone aside . . .' I shrug.
Callie smiles at me. 'My specialty.'
'James, I want you to take the coroner for now. Put on the pressure. We need the autopsy done today. After, you and I will go over and walk the scene.'
The hostility percolates, but he doesn't say anything, just nods. I stop for a second. I run through it all in my head, making sure I've covered all the bases. I have, I think.
'That it?' Alan asks.
I look up at him, surprised at the anger in his voice. Having no idea where it's coming from. 'I think so.'
He stands up. 'Good.' He walks away, back to the front of the plane, as all of us watch and wonder.
'Who put a big fat bug up his ass?' Callie asks.
'Yeah, what a grouch!' Leo chimes in.
Callie and I swivel our heads to stare at him. Hostile gazes all around.
Leo glances back and forth between us, nervous. 'What?' he asks.
'It's like the saying goes, child,' Callie says, poking a finger at his chest. ' 'Don't beat up my friend. Nobody gets to beat up my friend but me.' Do you follow?'
I watch as Leo's face closes down, becomes impassive. 'Sure. You mean I'm not your friend, right, Red?'
Callie cocks her head at him, and I see some of the hostility leave her face. 'No, honey-love--that's not what I'm saying. This isn't a clique, and we're not in high school. So drop the poor besieged nerd persona.'
She leans forward. 'What I'm saying is that I love that man. He saved my life once. And you don't get to pick on him like I do. Yet. Do you follow, sweetie pie?'
Leo appears less hostile but not quite ready to back down. 'Yeah, okay. I understand. But don't call me child.'
Callie turns to me and grins. 'He just might fit in after all, Smoky.'
She looks back at Leo. 'If you value your life, don't ever call me Red again, earring boy.'
'I'm going to talk to Alan,' I say. I'm distracted, not as amused by this banter as I would normally be. I move forward, leaving them to their good-natured bickering. Some small part of me that used to be a leader registers that what Callie is doing is, in fact, good for Leo and thus for the team. She's accepting him in her own way. I'm glad. Sometimes when teams work together for a long while, they become too insular. Almost xenophobic. It's not healthy, and I'm happy to see that they haven't gone down that path. Well, at least Callie hasn't. James stares out the window, closed and cold and not taking part. Quintessential James, nothing new. I arrive at the row Alan is sitting in. He's staring at his feet, and the tension that pours off him is choking. 'Mind if I sit down?' I ask. He waves a hand, doesn't look at me. 'Whatever.'
I sit and regard him for a moment. He turns to stare out the window. I decide to try the direct approach. 'What's up with you?'
He looks at me, and I almost recoil from the anger in his eyes.
'What's that supposed to be? Show you can talk to the 'brotha'?
'What up?' '
I'm speechless. Struck dumb. I wait, thinking this will pass, but Alan continues to glare at me, and his rage only seems to be building.
'Well?' he asks.
'You know that's not what I meant, Alan.' My voice is quiet. Even calm. 'It's obvious to everyone that you're upset about something. I'm just--asking.'
He continues to glare for another moment, but this time the fire does burn down. A little. He looks down at his hands. 'Elaina is sick.'
My mouth falls open. I'm flooded with shock and concern, instant and visceral. Elaina is Alan's wife, and I have known her for as long as I have known him. She is a beautiful Latin woman, beautiful in both form and heart. She came to see me in the hospital, the only visitor I had. The truth is, she gave me no choice. She barged in, brushing the nurses aside, walked up to my bed, sat on the edge, and fought my hands aside to draw me into her arms, all without speaking a single word. I melted against her and wept until I was dry. My strongest memory of her will always be that moment. The world a blur behind my tears, Elaina, comfortable and warm and strong, stroking my hair and crooning comfort to me in a mix of English and Spanish. She is a
'What? What do you mean?'
Perhaps it's the real fear he hears in my voice, but now the rage disappears. No more fire in those eyes. Just pain. 'Stage-two colon cancer. They removed the tumor, but it had ruptured. Some of the cancer spilled into her system before the surgery happened.'
'And what does that mean?'
'That's the fucked-up part. It might mean nothing. Maybe the cancer cells that came out when it ruptured are nothing to worry about. Or maybe they're there, floating around, ready to spread through her system. They can't give us any for-sures.' The pain is building in his eyes. 'We found out because she was having really bad pains. We thought it might be appendicitis. They took her right into surgery and found the tumor, took it out. Afterward, do you know what the doc told me? He told me she was stage four. That she was probably going to die.'
I look at his hands. They are shaking.
'I couldn't tell her. She was recovering, you know? I didn't want her to worry, just wanted her to concentrate on getting better from the operation. For a whole week, I thought she was going to die, and every time I looked at her, that's what I thought about. She didn't have a clue.' He laughs, mirthless. 'So we go back in for her checkup, and the doctor has good news for us. Stage two, not stage four. Seventy to eighty percent survival rate over five years. He's all grins, and she starts crying. She found out that her cancer wasn't as bad as we thought, and she didn't know till just then that this was good news.'
'Oh, Alan . . .'
'So she's going to be getting chemo. Maybe some radiation; we're still gathering all the information. Making our choices.' He stares at those big hands again. 'I thought I was going to lose her, Smoky. Even now, even when the facts say she's going to be fine, I don't know. What I do know is what it would feel like. I had a whole week to feel that. I can't stop feeling it.' He looks at me, and the anger is back. 'I felt the possibility of losing her. And what am I doing? Flying toward our next skell. She's at home, sleeping.' He looks out the window. 'Maybe up by now. But I ain't with her.'
I stare at him, aghast. 'Jesus, Alan! Why don't you take a leave? Be with Elaina, not here. We can handle this without you.'
