Fletcher2:Rollercoaster - Chap 27 Date: Wed, 6 Oct 1999 12:37:16 From: "starbuck22" Fletcher2: Rollercoaster By: Dana Starbuck Feedback: dks_starbuck@yahoo.com Disclaimers: See Chapter 1 WARNING: The next few chapters contain some violence and "ick". THANKS: Once again, big thanks to Athos, Selena & Rad. Your help, feedback, patience and friendship is greatly appreciated. I can't do it without you. And a special thanks to my cyberbro deejay. Words can't express my thanks and gratitude. <> Quantico Friday, December 11th, 9:00 AM Fletcher tried not to notice the stares as she walked down the hallway. She still wasn't sure which was worse, having the bandage or not having the bandage. After Scully had left earlier, she'd taken the bandage off. She nodded her thanks to those who welcomed her back, not stopping to chat with anyone. She looked at her watch. - - - - - There were a few unfamiliar faces in the lab. She spotted Barry Vickers talking to a short dark-haired woman Fletcher didn't recognize. Barry had been at Quantico almost as long as Fletcher had. "Yo, Barry," she called out. Barry smiled when he saw her. "Fletcher, welcome back. What brings you down here? Looking for Gabe?" "Actually, Barry, I was wondering if you could help me out." Fletcher suddenly noticed that the woman was trying hard not to gawk. Fletcher stuck out her hand. "Hi. I'm Fletcher Buchanan. You must be new here, relatively speaking." "Elly Klingler," she almost stuttered, shaking Fletcher's hand. "You're the one who came up with the sewer angle on Algernon," she smiled. "Good work, that was a huge help." "Th-thank you," Elly managed. "Hope Barry isn't giving you a hard time." "No, no, not at all." If the woman shook her head any faster, it might have come off. "What can I do for you, Fletcher?" Barry asked. "How are you with stitches?" "I've sewn up a few autopsies." "Ever take any out?" Fletcher asked, pointing to her wound. He looked carefully at the sutures and whistled. "Christ, Fletcher, how many did they put in?" "I'm not sure," she replied, shrugging. "Maybe thirty." "I don't think I'm any good at taking them _out_." "Know anybody down here who can?" He cocked his head. "Why don't you have your doctor do it? "I don't want to wait." The look on his face was full of disapproval. "I should've known what you were up to as soon as I saw you down here, 'slumming it'." "You know me, Barry." She grinned her most charming, crooked grin. "I'm such a people-user." "Hah." He shook his head. "Sorry, Fletcher. This is the pathology lab, not the infirmary, and we're not covered by the Bureau HMO. Go get it done by a real doctor." "Well, you can't blame a girl for trying," she sighed. "Go on," he said, waving her away. "Out, before Gabe or Roy finds out the real reason you were down here." Fletcher thought. ISU Office Suites Friday, 9:26 AM "Fletcher, what are you doing here? I didn't expect to see you until next week. How are you?" said a middle-aged, slightly plump woman with 'big' hair, looking every bit a typical secretary. "Just fine, Shirley, thanks," she said to the Administrative Assistant that she'd 'inherited' with her promotion and her office. "I've got so many messages for you. They're mostly get well wishes," she said, a stack of pink slips of paper in her hand. She followed Fletcher into her office. Fletcher stopped when she flipped on the light. She was surprised to find a large flower arrangement on her desk. It was huge, taking up most of the space on her desk. "Where'd these come from?" she asked Shirley. "They came to the main gate yesterday morning. Security checked them over and sent them down." "Who are they from?" She moved around her desk, looking for a card. "I don't know. The card was sealed. It's right there, in the middle." She smiled. She plucked the envelope out of the arrangement and pulled out the note. It was a computer printout on FTD letterhead. What she read turned her blood cold. "Shirley, get Roy on the phone for me." Shirley opened her mouth to ask what was wrong, but stopped when she saw the color drain from Fletcher's face. "Right away." Fletcher sank into her chair, fingering the card over and over. "Fletcher," Shirley said over the intercom. "Roy's on line one." "Thanks." She snatched up the phone and hit the extension. "Roy?" "Fletcher, when did you get in?" His tone said she shouldn't be in at all. "Just a few minutes ago. You need to come down to my office." "Can it wait? I've got a meeting in ten..." "Now, Roy." There was silence, and then he said, "I'm on my way." Fletcher looked through the message slips while she waited, her face frozen, barely concealing her anger. She wanted nothing more than to dropkick the flowers across the room and tear up the card. "Fletcher, what's wrong?" Roy asked, striding into her office. "How do you like my flowers?" she asked cryptically. "You called me to your office about _flowers_?" Roy was puzzled, and wondered if Fletcher was suffering some sort of after-effects from her injuries. "You'll never guess who they're from." She handed him the note. He read it in silence, swallowing back the bile that rose to his throat. "MY APOLOGIES. I NEVER MEANT TO HURT YOU. I WAS ONLY TRYING TO GET YOUR ATTENTION. GET WELL SOON. ALGERNON." "He's a nervy SOB, isn't he?" Roy commented. Fletcher was so angry she couldn't talk. When she finally did, she spoke through clenched teeth, her voice cold, her face white with rage. "I want that bastard's balls hanging from my rear-view mirror!" "Fletcher," Roy began. "I want the staff of the guardhouse in here. Now. I want to know who delivered them, what florist shop they're from -" "I'll put an agent on it..." "The hell you will! I'm going out myself after I tear some..." Roy's eyes grew dark. "That's not in the equation, Fletcher." "Damnit, Roy, I'm _fine_! My doctor gave me a full physical yesterday!" His expression said he clearly wasn't buying it. "Then you won't mind one of _our_ doctors checking you out later this morning?" "Don't be treating me like an invalid, Roy. It's only stitches, for chrissakes." "It's still a _bullet_ wound. And you know you shouldn't even be back to work until you've been cleared by the department shrink." Alarm bells went off in Fletcher's head. "I don't need a shrink, Roy." "It's _policy_, Fletcher. And to put it bluntly, the only reason I don't run your ass out of here without a psych evaluation is because we need you _now_." She relaxed, if only a little. "Thanks." "You'll still have to see one. Later. When it's not quite so hectic." "Right," she said sarcastically. "Just schedule the appointment for 2010. I might have some free time then." "Fletcher..." "I hear you, Roy. It's just not a good time right now." "Yeah, well, _now_ you're going to go see the docs. And when I hear - from _them_ - that they've checked you out, and you can work to a _minimum_ level, I'll plug you back in." Fletcher started to object, but he pointed at her and said, "Don't make me make it an order, Fletcher. This is non-negotiable." She rubbed her eyes like she was tired. She got up and started out the door. "I want the complete skinny on the flowers on my desk this afternoon." "You'll have it," he assured her, watching her go. ISU Forensics Labs Friday, 9:54 AM Scully left the meeting with Gabe. He'd assigned her to overview several other cases since they hadn't found anything new on the Algernon cases. She was pleased that Gabe had assigned Elly to work with her. She'd heard that Gabe was a shrewd assessor of talent, and now she was seeing it first hand. "You missed the excitement," Elly said when Scully returned to the lab. "What?" "The legend herself was down here." "Who?" "Fletcher Buchanan." Elly finished off her second can of diet coke, an addiction she couldn't explain or break. "Really?" Scully tried to sound as nonplussed as possible. "Yeah. I can see why everybody talks about her. She even introduced herself to me, lowly little lab rat that I am." "Elly..." Scully rolled her eyes. "C'mon, Dana, it's not every day one of the mighty comes down to our department." "What did she want?" Her voice sounded bored, though she was very curious as to Fletcher's visit. "She tried to talk Barry into taking her stitches out. And you should've seen the stitches. The line must be at least four inches long. And she didn't even want to go to the doctor to have them out. It was so cool! She's tough as nails," she said admiringly. "And just about as smart," Scully muttered, stewing inside. "Huh?" "Oh, nothing. Just thinking out loud." Flower Power Boswell, New Jersey Friday, 10:49 AM "You didn't take _any_ I.D.?" Crocker asked, slightly incredulous. "These days, you have to show I.D. to buy air." "It was a cash sale," the girl behind the counter repeated. "I didn't _need_ to see any I.D.. Besides, we don't sell liquor or guns here. We sell flowers." "Don't people have to give an address and phone number when you place an order, in case the delivery gets screwed up?" McHugh asked. "Yehhhhhs." She tapped the fax paper on the counter with a painted fingernail. The color was not found in nature. Neither was the color of her hair. "That's what _that_ is." "Oh, sure," Crocker said wryly. "The address is the mailing address for Giants Stadium. The phone number is the request line for a Classic ROck station in Teaneck." "Oh." The girl lost a little of her attitude. "Well, we don't usually check that stuff. Like he said, we only call the sender if something goes wrong. We don't even contact the sender to confirm delivery unless he or she asks us to." <'It's not my job.' Right.> Crocker glanced down at the name on the order form. <'Benjamin Willard.' Smartass.> "And you don't remember _anything_ about this guy?" "We're already in the Christmas season," the girl complained. "Since Black Friday, we've had triple the orders we usually get. That means three times the people, and not all of them call the order in. I wish they did. I've got finals next week, and I haven't been able to study at _all_!" She nodded at a stack of thick textbooks next to a chair by the phone. "Sure," Dave said, taking his best 'Understanding Guy' stance. "But I'll bet not all of them paid cash." He tapped the time code on the paper. "Or came in at 12:24 yesterday afternoon." "Actually, _most_ of them came in around that time," she said, her petulance returning. "That's when most of the peons have their lunch." She made a face. "_I_ don't get to go to lunch 'til after one. If it weren't for granola bars, I'd never make it." "It's a hard-knock life," Crocker cracked. She either missed the reference, or thought laughing at an old man's jokes was uncool. "What'd this guy do, anyway? Send flowers to the wrong girl?" "You could say that," McHugh said, smiling tightly. "Thanks for your help." The temperature had dropped a little more since they'd been in the shop. Crocker fished out his gloves as they stepped out onto the sidewalk. "Well, that was a waste of time." "Not really," McHugh corrected him, tightening his scarf around his neck. "I figured out what to send my mom for her birthday." Bill shook his head. "Don't they have enough flowers down in Vero Beach?" "Well, I can't send her what she _really_ wants_," Dave chuckled. "Carnegie Deli doesn't deliver that far out of town, and the assisted community probably has pastrami sensors set up around the grounds." "I know where I'm _not_ retiring. Speaking of pastrami, you want to grab some lunch?" "Gotta find an ATM," McHugh winced. "I haven't cashed my paycheck yet." "There you go." Bill pointed at the Citizen's Bank across the way. McHugh shook his head. "I go over there, I pay a cover charge. Don't worry, I saw a branch of my bank about five blocks from here." He started towards the car, but stopped when he noticed Bill wasn't following him. Dave looked back. "What?" "I'm just thinking." Bill was still looking across the street. "What do all ATMs have in common?" Dave walked back to his partner. "They all try to rip you off with as many fees as possible?" Bill looked at him and smiled. "They all have security cameras." McHugh did a double take. He pulled the order form out of his pocket. "And _we_ have a time stamp." "So we do." They went across the street at a trot. Cambridge County DPW Depot 3 Tuesday, 11:56 PM "You guys have gotta be fuckin' kidding me." "Do I _look_ like I'm telling a joke, Mr. Hadsell?" Crocker asked the dispatcher. Crocker thought the man looked like a frog, which brought him even further down in standing. Crocker hated frogs from the moment he had to open one up in his junior high school science class. "But look at this shit," Hadsell whined. "I took better pictures on my honeymoon. And I was half in the bag for most of that!" McHugh thought to himself. "I'm afraid these are the best we could do. We appreciate any help you can give us." He couldn't help but grimace at the collection of vidcaps that were spread out on Hadsell's cluttered desk. "Look, guys, have a heart," Hadsell implored, glancing through the pictures as he spoke. "I've given you a shitload'a help _already_! You made me go through three months of logbooks the other day. Now you got me lookin' at _this_ shit! I got three people out sick, branches down all over 'cause of the windstorm we had last night, and if that ain't enough-" He paused. "Whoa, hold on." McHugh leaned forward in his chair. "You got something?" "Well..." Hadsell held one of the vidcaps away from him, squinting like he was nearsighted. "Well, the picture sucks, so I can't be sure..." "But...?" Crocker said, urging him to go on. "Well, this guy _looks_ like Charley..." He wrinkled his nose. "'Scuse me, _Charles_ Tolliver." "He particular about that?" McHugh asked. "Yeah," Hadsell snorted. "Pretty fuckin' prissy for a sewer rat." "Sewer rat?" Dave exchanged a look with Bill. "Yeah. Anything that's blocked up, backed up, or floodin' somebody's bathtub, Charles is the man in charge. He does other stuff - runs a plow in the winter, does branch detail like everyone else - but mostly he's runnin' round underground. Wish the snooty little fucker would stay down there. I don't trust anyone who doesn't watch football at _all_." He looked up at the two federal agents. "Why? What's he done?" "We just need to ask him some questions," Crocker said neutrally. "Is he working today?" Hadsell turned to a rack of clipboards and pulled the nearest one off a hook. "He's goin' round clearin' the grates. Usual drill every winter. Fall leaves clog 'em up, nothin' drains when there's a thaw, streets get flooded..." He ran his finger down a row, then pushed his chair over to the radio set. "He's over in Ramsey, in the Knolls. Ritzy neighborhood, always complainin' they never get the service they pay for..." He picked up the microphone and pressed the red button on the base. "Central to 205, come in, over." He waited. Nothing but static came from the speaker. "Central to 205, come on back, over." He waited some more. Still more static. Hadsell glanced up at the clock on the wall. "He's probably takin' a lunch break. Ought to be back on the air any time. Want me to keep calling?" "No, that's okay," Crocker said easily. "We got to catch some lunch ourselves. Just give us a description of his vehicle. Maybe we'll run into him." Hadsell did so, convinced he was going to be interviewed on 'America's Most Wanted' by the end of the week, at the latest. "Is Tolliver's car parked out there?" McHugh asked, looking out the grime-covered window. Hadsell lifted up out of his chair for a moment. "Yeah. The gray Honda Prelude with the busted taillight." Dave and Bill passed another look. "Thanks," Dave told him. "Oh, and do you have his home address around?"