Chapter Text
“He’s dead, Jim.”
James Tiberius Kirk rolled his eyes at his best friend. “Yeah, I kind of worked that much out for myself, Bones.”
Bones arched one eyebrow skyward from his position kneeling on one knee by the body. “I’m going give you a break on the tone since you just found a dead body on your porch.”
The drawl of Bones’ Southern accent coated every word in honeyed warmth and gave away that under the gentle chastisement Leonard McCoy was worried about him.
Jim shivered despite the sunny evening.
April in San Francisco was warm, but the evenings could dip a little low, and sometimes the shift would catch Jim unawares. He was all too aware that he was stuck in his exercise outfit, a thin skin-tight gold top matched with black running shorts and high-quality sneakers. He half-regretted deciding to run off his frustration after the day he’d spent with his Mom but he’d needed to move after hours of being compared with his late father and found wanting. Why he’d thought spending the day with her was a good idea…he scrubbed a hand over his short beard. No matter how fruitless his efforts he’d never quite given up on her loving him one day.
Bones stood up and pulled off the medical gloves he’d donned when he arrived. “You call it in?”
“Yeah, told them I already called you,” Jim sighed, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck. “Christine’s going to bring your van.”
He doubted Bones’ assistant was going to be any more impressed with him than the FBI local office dispatcher; she had seemed supremely unimpressed with Jim’s ability to find trouble even in his downtime.
“You know him?” asked Bones carefully.
Jim stared again at the lifeless heavily freckled face with its unseeing blue eyes, all under a top of shocking pink hair. He shook his head. “I don’t recognise him.”
The man sprawled lifeless on his doorstep was younger than Jim, barely out of his teens, and dressed in the ubiquitous uniform of a university student; jeans, t-shirt, grubby sneakers. Jim had thought it was a lost and drunken student when he’d first spotted him when he’d come back from his run. He’d been irritated at the intrusion but had determined to get the kid some help back to whichever campus he’d wandered off.
“Come on, kid,” Bones led Jim back down to where he’d parked his car on the street. He nudged Jim to lean against the trunk while he dived into the car and came back with a bottle of water and Jim’s favourite chocolate bar. “Here.”
Jim gratefully drank down some water before tearing into the sweet chocolate. He devoured the bar. He hadn’t realised how hungry he’d gotten. He washed away the chocolate with more water.
“Better?” asked Bones. “Your colour’s improving, at least.”
Jim nodded. “Yeah, thanks.”
Bones settled beside him, leaning against the trunk. “Your neighbourhood knows you’re FBI.”
Jim sighed. “You think he was coming to me for help?”
“Cause of death is likely a drug OD,” Bones stated crisply. “Vomit on the path, on the porch. Pupils look blown. Some cyanosis.”
“He didn’t have tracks,” Jim commented. The kid’s arms were bare and didn’t they show any signs of a drug addiction.
“Not everything is injected,” Bones pointed out dryly.
Jim pushed a hand through his mop of blond hair. Vehicles turning into the road stopped Jim from replying as he recognised the boxy SUVs of his field team, followed by the black Medical Examiner’s van.
Despite the circumstances, he let himself feel a momentary flicker of glee and satisfaction at the sight of them. The brainchild of Assistant Director Christopher Pike, they were the best of the best; a mixed team of varying specialists which could investigate anything anywhere that fell under the FBI’s jurisdiction. And Jim was the youngest ever team lead in the history of the FBI.
A sleek sedan was at the front of the procession and Jim wasn’t surprised when it glided to a halt and his boss climbed out.
Jim straightened automatically, shoulders going back, arms sliding behind his back in a pseudo at-ease pose. “Sir.”
“Only you, Jim,” Christopher Pike complained with a smile.
Chris looked every inch like the former Marine he’d been. He kept his dark hair with its greying sides trimmed short, his suit was crisply pressed, the shirt collar buttoned regardless of weather, and the tie knotted to perfection.
The only time Jim had achieved the same level of turnout had been when he’d worn a Marine uniform himself. He’d never achieved it in his civilian dress. Somehow his tie always ended up askew, his jacket and shirt rumpled.
Chris glanced over at Bones. “How’d you beat us here?”
“Movie night,” Bones drawled, although there was a respectful note in his tone. Bones liked Chris, had worked for him long before Chris had recruited Jim.
Chris hummed, his lips twitching giving away that he knew ‘movie night’ was nothing more than Jim and Bones cracking open cold beers and sitting shooting the breeze on the back porch.
Jim nodded at his team as they gathered around. “Sorry to pull you all back in.”
“What’s the situation, sir?” Spock asked.
His second-in-command looked as pristine as Chris. Spock always dressed in a black suit, grey shirt, and black tie regardless of weather or circumstances. His black hair had changed style since his marriage to Uhura, shifting from a painful straight black bowl cut to a stylish neat cut which had revealed slightly pointed ears, adding to the mix of Asian and Middle Eastern that made up Spock’s features.
Jim ignored the ‘sir’ – he’d long given up on convincing Spock it was alright to call him his name in a professional setting. He considered it a win that Spock would call him Jim when they socialised.
“Dead kid on my porch,” Jim reported succinctly. “Found him when I came back from my run.”
Chris shook his head and turned to Bones. “When did you get here?”
“About fifteen minutes ago,” Bones said. He pointed at the discreet cameras Jim had installed on the outside of his property. “Should all be on camera.”
“The video evidence will be most useful in substantiating your story,” Spock noted crisply.
Bones bristled.
Jim stepped in before they could start sniping at each other. He threw his keys at Spock. “Spock, why don’t you and Sulu clear the house and grounds so we can clear the body and begin the forensics?”
He could see Scotty and Chekov hovering around Christine, large bags of equipment at their feet. The cadence of Scotty’s Scottish brogue was travelling across the short distance although Jim couldn’t make out the words. Chekov looked fascinated, wide-eyed and puppy-like in his attentive pose. Christine decked out in the usual ME coveralls was organising the gurney with brisk efficiency.
Spock nodded and motioned at Hikaru Sulu who’d stayed a step back. Sulu’s khaki pants were teamed with a smart navy blazer giving him the look of someone who’d stepped off a yacht. Since Sulu and his partner actually did live on the marina on a boat with their daughter, Demora, it was a little on the nose.
Uhura cleared her throat, drawing Jim’s attention. She looked as sophisticated as her husband, but wildly more colourful in a scarlet suit teamed with a floral blouse. Her black hair was pulled back into a practical ponytail with her make-up discreet and barely there.
“Why don’t Jayleh and I get started on the canvass, sir?” She directed her question at Chris, who ostensibly was the lead agent on site, especially since Jim’s own conflict of interest ruled him out of the investigation until he was cleared of any involvement.
Jim took a look at their fidgeting probie at Uhura’s elbow. How Jayleh had made it through Basic in the Air Force was a mystery to Jim. Still, the young Lieutenant had been honourably discharged after getting injured in the line of duty on her first tour saving a fellow officer. Jim had agreed to her assignment to his team because of her courage and fighting spirit. She was also as smart as a whip. Jayleh’s skinny brown pants and short jacket had been teamed with practical boots. Her streaked brown hair was loose around her shoulders, her beautiful face was free of make-up.
Chris nodded his go ahead at Uhura.
Uhura strode away, Jayleh beside her.
Jim sighed. His neighbours already hated him. “I’m going to have to move again.”
“At least nobody tried to blow the house up this time,” Chris comforted him dryly.
“The night is young,” Bones snorted. He nudged Jim. “I’m going to get ready before Christine gives me the side-eye. You OK, kid?”
“I’m good,” Jim said, shooting Bones a grateful look.
Bones looked pointedly at Chris before he strode away.
As if he’d timed it perfectly Spock appeared before them and confirmed the house and grounds were clear.
“You’re in charge then Agent S’chn,” Chris said. “Come on, Jim. Let’s get you back to the office and I’ll take your statement.”
Jim repressed the urge to sigh. He motioned to where Bones was suiting up into overalls. “Bones has the security codes for the cameras.”
Spock nodded sharply. “Understood.”
Jim followed Chris to his car and climbed in the passenger seat, pulling on his seatbelt. It was truly a perfect end to his already crappy day.
o-O-o
“…and in other news, a memorial for the anniversary of the Tarsus Island massacre was held today in New York with many prominent…”
Jim thumbed the remote off, the TV blinking back to black in a satisfactory way.
Bones darted a look at him as he handed him a beer. “You OK?”
“Yeah, just…” Jim waved his bottle at Bones as the older man took the other end of the sofa. “It’s been a day.”
He’d spent a long time under the shower when they’d gotten to Bones’ place, letting the hot water soothe him. He’d dressed in old comfortable sweats Bones had given him, grateful to be out of the clingy running clothes. He snuggled into the sofa cushions. Bones had a great sofa. Jim was OK with sleeping on it again for the night while his home got cleaned up.
Bones nodded. “Almost tomorrow now.”
Jim glanced at the old-fashioned grandfather clock which had apparently once belonged to Bones’ great-great grandmother and sighed. Five minutes to midnight. He let his head drop back against the cushion.
Bones suddenly reached behind him and pulled out a game controller from the back of the sofa. He tossed it on the coffee table which was crowded with medical journals and books.
“Damn things get everywhere,” Bones grumbled.
Jim knew Bones loved the evidence of his daughter living with him too much to take seriously his complaint. Joanna McCoy was a bundle of glorious sunshine. It was difficult to remember that Jo was a pre-teen driving her father and grandmother mad when Jim had first met her as a baby in the wake of Bones’ contentious divorce with her mother. It said something about Jocelyn Treadway that Bones had been awarded full custody of their daughter. Bones credited his own mother with the win, claiming Eleanora McCoy declaring that she was moving in with him to help look after Jo had made the difference.
Jim cast a look at the ceiling hoping both Ellie and Jo were sound asleep.
“Your Mom OK?” asked Bones.
Jim grimaced. “Yeah.”
“She know what today is?” asked Bones gruffly.
“She knows,” Jim said shortly. He just figured Winona didn’t care.
Bones’ hand landed on his ankle and Jim felt the gentle grip as Bones squeezed. It was a grounding touch that Jim appreciated. He let his frame unwind a little more. Maybe his relationship with his Mom was screwed up and his relationship with Sam distant because of more than geography, but he always had Bones.
He thanked God for Chris finding him in the wake of his discharge from the Marines and dragging him to the FBI. Chris had introduced them on Jim’s first day at FLTEC and they’d never looked back in their friendship.
“You want something to eat?” asked Bones. “Mom has some left-over chowder in the crockpot.”
Jim shook his head. The thought of eating turned his stomach.
“Then you should get some sleep,” Bones said, not moving. “Video showed you leaving, the kid staggering up the path to drop dead on your porch, and your return. You’ll be cleared by tomorrow morning.”
“Were you right about the drugs?” asked Jim.
Bones grimaced and sipped his beer. “Kid was drugged but it was an ingested poison.”
“Someone killed him,” Jim completed.
And the kid had known. He’d been trying to get to Jim for help.
Jim knew they’d failed to identify the kid before they’d left the office. There had been nothing on him – no wallet, no identification. The only clue was a folded-up flyer for a photography show at the San Francisco Art Institute dated three weeks before.
If the kid had realised that he’d been drugged…he’d walked out of his situation and tried to get to Jim. On foot? Or maybe he’d had some cash to pay for a bus or a tram ride…
“Stop thinking about it,” Bones said brusquely. “Spock is already on it and tomorrow will be soon enough to track down what happened to the kid.”
“He came to me for help, Bones,” Jim said.
“And you’ll help him,” Bones said.
Jim felt Bones’ belief settle into his own bones like a promise.
Bones nudged his foot with his hand. “I’m heading up. You know where the blankets are. Get some sleep.”
Jim hummed as Bones departed. His mind was racing. He got to his feet and pulled the blankets out of the old wooden chest on the far wall. He huddled under the soft wool, breathing in the comforting scent of lavender, of Eleanora McCoy. He switched the TV back on, turned it onto a sales channel, setting the volume to mute. He let the inane selling of kitchen gadgets lull him to sleep.
o-O-o
“Chris tells me you can handle this case.”
The main monitor was filled with the image of Una Chin-Riley, the first female Director of the FBI, and Chris Pike’s former wife.
Chris seemed supremely relaxed, standing at the back of the room, leaning against a wall with his arms over his chest.
“I can, Director,” Jim assured her. He resisted the urge to stand at attention, keeping his hands lightly touching the chair in front of him. He had spent all morning twiddling his thumbs while his team worked around him. Bones had dragged him to the cafeteria for lunch but he’d hardly been able to choke down his sandwich. Luckily Chris had snagged him straight away when he’d returned and dragged him into the conference room.
The Director arched an eyebrow and turned her gaze to Spock beside him. “You’ve definitely cleared him?”
“Agent Chekov has obtained traffic camera evidence which shows Agent Kirk and the victim never crossed paths,” Spock confirmed.
“And you have made a formal statement denying you know the individual, Agent Kirk?” checked the Director.
“I don’t recognise him,” Jim said firmly. He’d been specific in his official statement, and he wasn’t going to change that.
The Director sighed, her fingers tapping on the top of her desk. “Very well. You’ll resume your position and take lead on the case. However,” she pointed down the camera. “You’ll report your every move to AD Pike and Agent S’chn will remain your constant shadow. If one step looks suspect, you’ll be stood down and Agent S’chn will resume lead on this case. Understood?”
Jim nodded. “Yes, ma’am.”
The Director gave a sharp nod, glanced pointedly in the same way to Chris as Bones had the day before which was beyond disturbing and the image blinked out.
Spock efficiently tapped a text into his cell phone. “The team will join us for a briefing.”
Jim nodded and pulled out the chair, sliding into it as the door opened and his team spilled in. He waited impatiently as they took their seats.
Bones sat beside him on his left, Spock on his right. Uhura always took the seat next to Spock. Scotty bagged the seat beside Bones, Chekov beside him. Sulu ushered Jayleh into the seat beside Uhura and he took the empty seat beside Chekov. Chris took the final seat at the end of the table.
“What do we have so far?” asked Jim briskly.
Spock pointed the remote at the monitor and it flickered to life with Spock’s desktop. Files began to unfold.
“The victim was found at your abode at eighteen-hundred hours,” Spock began. “Doctor McCoy declared him dead at the scene.”
“Our autopsy shows he died from some form of poisoning,” Bones said. “We’re waiting on analysis from the lab, but it’s not a typical poison. It began eating through the stomach membrane and the small colon; we found damage in both as well as signs of failure in multiple internal organs. It’s likely that the kid was in a great deal of pain. Ultimately, his heart gave out.”
Spock frowned at Bones’ description.
“Mrs Beaton confirmed she saw a young man staggering past her window a few minutes before he entered your property,” Uhura said. “She described him as sweating and clutching his stomach.”
“The camera caught his final moments,” Scotty confirmed sadly, shaking his head with its shock of thinning red hair. He poked his glasses back up his nose. “He vomited twice and keeled over. He was gone long before you arrived back.”
“We tracked his journey with traffic cam,” Chekov’s slightly accented voice began excitedly.
Spock hit the forward button showing a map with a bright blue line showing a trail from Jim’s house back to a café close to the Art Institute.
“He came on bus,” Chekov said. “He got on here.”
A bright yellow spot blinked on the map a block down from the café.
“He walked from the café,” Chekov said. “He was at the café for approximately thirty minutes.”
Sulu coughed. “Jayleh and I went to the café this morning, interviewed the staff and picked up their security footage.” He gestured at Spock who clicked into the file.
A video played out with the timestamp of the previous day.
The young man entered at seventeen hundred. He took a seat at the back of the café. Jim noted that he wore a purple sports jacket over the t-shirt. At the table, he pulled out a book from an inner pocket and began to page through it, using another smaller leaflet as a bookmark.
A waitress approached and took his order. She leaned in as the kid showed her something on the leaflet. She pointed first at the leaflet and then pointed out of the café.
“Anna Harlow,” Sulu recited, “she remembers him being polite but nervous about something. He asked her which bus would be best to get to your street and she gave him the bus route and where the best stop to get on would be.”
Jayleh nodded. “She said he ordered a Grande latte with an extra shot and a caramel syrup and chocolate sprinkles.”
“That’s not coffee,” snorted Bones, “that’s dessert!”
Jim agreed with him. It sounded sickly.
“He declined food,” Jayleh noted.
“Here’s where it gets interesting,” Sulu said, nodding at the monitor.
The timestamp had moved on fifteen minutes and a woman had entered.
Jim catalogued her appearance automatically. Bright red hair, a shade that suggested it was dyed rather than natural. Tan complexion. She wore jeans and a crop-top which showed off her muscled abdomen. A long three-quarter length light crocheted cardigan in a straw-coloured thread topped the outfit. Her shoes were sandals, she carried a large beach bag and wore oversize sunglasses.
She slid into the seat opposite their victim who looked surprised to see her.
“Harlow says the woman was in her late thirties, maybe early forties,” Sulu said, “to quote her, “the broad was well-maintained so could be older.””
“Nice,” Uhura commented dryly.
Spock froze the screen at the moment the waitress had come over to take the woman’s order. The woman had pointed at something in the display cabinet and both the waitress and the kid had looked over.
The woman had discreetly dumped something into the kid’s drink.
“Jesus,” Bones said, “she did it in broad daylight.”
“She has a high degree of confidence,” Spock noted.
“Or desperation,” Bones countered.
The two men glared at each other.
Jim cleared his throat pointedly and they all resumed watching the video. There was clearly an intense discussion between the kid who’d died and the woman. A disagreement, Jim thought as the kid shook his head.
He saw when the kid began to feel unwell. A hand going up to mop a suddenly sweaty brow; a hand shifting to touch the stomach.
A few minutes later, the kid stumbled away from the table and out of shot.
“Bathroom is back of the shop,” Sulu confirmed. “We think he went out of the back door because he doesn’t go back to the café.”
On screen, the woman waited five minutes before she made a show of getting a text, gathering the kid’s things and stuffing them in her bag, throwing down money and hurrying out.
“Harlow said the kid texted the woman to say he was unwell and was waiting outside because he had needed air,” Jayley reported.
“Nothing was left behind to identify the kid,” Sulu confirmed before Jim could ask the question. “But, the waitress did remember that he had a key-card tucked into the book for a well-known budget motel chain so we’ve started running that lead down. If he does have a motel, it looks like he’s from out of town and not a student here.”
“Fingerprints analysis came up empty,” Scotty said.
“We have placed request for the bus footage,” Chekov said. “Nothing yet.”
Jim knocked his fist against the table lightly. He looked over at Uhuru expectantly.
“I’ve spent this morning tracking down the details on the flyer he had on him,” Uhuru said. She nodded at Spock who brought up an intact flyer on the screen.
“The flyer is for a photography show called ‘Portraits of Art in Motion’ by the renowned life photographer, Paulina Veshovsky,” Uhuru said. “It’s been running for the past month and has received rave reviews from critics and pundits alike.”
“You think this show was important to the kid?” asked Bones.
“I think he had very few things on him,” Uhuru said, “and this was one of them.”
“It is not logical to assume that because he had few belongings that the flyer had significant importance,” Spock said.
“Logical, maybe not,” Bones countered brusquely, “psychologically it makes sense that if he held onto it, it had importance.”
“Exactly,” Uhuru said. “At the very least, it shows us that the victim was interested in photography and art. He’s either been there already or intended to go.”
“It’s worth exploring,” Jim said firmly, stepping in. He slid his chair back and paced to the monitor where the flyer took up the whole screen. His mind raced with the information from his team. “OK,” he said, turning back to face them, “Sulu, Jayleh, you both stay on tracking down the motel and chasing down that lead.” He shifted to look at Chekov and Scotty. “I want the traffic footage re-examined to track down the movements of the woman. Interrogate social media and see if you can get a hit on her image. That’s our unsub. I want to know where she came from; let’s track her down.”
Jim took a breath.
“Bones…”
“I’m going to follow up on the poison she used,” Bones confirmed.
Jim nodded sharply. “Spock, Uhuru and I will take the gallery lead and see if we can find out about the kid from that angle.” He checked his watch. “Next debrief at seventeen hundred hours.”
It was time for Jim to get to work.
o-O-o
The San Francisco Art Institute was a hop, skip and a jump away from Fisherman’s Wharf.
Jim let Spock and Uhuru take the lead with greeting the Department Chair for Photography, a tired looking Bohemian Professor called Gallo Bothray, with wild white hair more reminiscent of a mad scientist than an artist. He seemed to be wearing layers of patterned shirt upon shirt for no discernible fashionable reasoning, teamed with sage green jeans smeared with what looked like clay.
Jim hoped it was clay.
Bothray led them into his office. It was small and cramped. A large desk took up space under the only window, a seat behind and in front. The lower part of the sidewalls was given over to bookshelves crammed with books, stacks of books, and occasional stacks of journals. The upper walls were filled almost to the ceiling with framed photos of wildly different subjects. The desk had a computer lurking underneath a sea of folders.
Bothray sat behind the desk and Uhuru took the seat, Spock standing like a bodyguard behind her.
Jim chose to browse the shelves and the art, taking in the odd photo of students smiling happily with Bothray in many of the photos propped into the shelves themselves. He listened with a half-cocked ear as Uhuru talked with Bothray.
“I’m afraid I don’t recognise him,” Bothray said. “If he was one of mine, well, that pink hair is rather distinctive, I like to think I would have remembered him, but there are so many students so if they’re not in my class…” he shrugged.
Uhuru withdrew the photo she’d placed in front of Bothray and placed it back into its envelope. “Perhaps you can tell us about the photography show the young man was interested in?”
Bothray brightened. “Of course! It’s quite a coup to secure Paulina’s work these days!” He leaned across the desk. “We may have had something of a fling in our youth.”
“So, you were the one who organised it?” asked Uhuru.
Bothray nodded. “Paulina was struggling to find an art gallery to carry the show when she wanted to launch it, so I offered her one of ours.” He smiled smugly. “Of course, she had to do a few guest lectures and there isn’t an admission charge for the students or visiting academic groups. It’s been a tremendous success.”
Uhuru hummed. “The topic of the show is very interesting. Could you tell me a little more about it?”
“It’s a wonderful study,” Bothray gushed. “There are thirty photos in total set in three series of tens. The first series is one where Paulina photographed artists in the process of creation – whether painting, pottery, glass-blowing, and…well, you get the picture.”
“The second series?” prompted Uhuru with more patience than Jim had.
“Artists in the practice of their craft,” Bothray confirmed. “Less impressive than the first, but there are one or two nice pieces in there – the ballet practice in particular is haunting with the way she uses light and dark.”
“And the final series?” Spock interjected as Bothray took a breath.
“Performance,” Bothray said. “Theatre productions, opera, ballet, a dance show way off-off Broadway. That’s her best work. Everyone who has seen the show has commented on the drama of the shots.”
“Fascinating,” Spock said dryly.
Uhuru coughed to hide her laugh. “You mentioned that there were academic groups visiting the gallery. Do you keep records?”
“Security will,” Bothray said with a dismissive handwave. “They deal with all that.”
Jim turned around and smiled charmingly at Bothray. “Would it be possible to see the show? I’m keen to experience what drew the victim here.”
Bothray beamed at him. His bright brown eyes ran over Jim’s form appreciatively taking in the form fitting blue suit Jim had worn. “Of course, let me escort you to the gallery.”
Jim smiled. “Thank you.” He gestured at Spock. “Spock, why don’t you and Nyota follow up with the security office.”
Spock bowed his head, a hint of gratitude in his dark eyes at not having to deal with Bothray. “We shall do so.”
Jim let himself be guided out by Bothray, through the corridors and across a courtyard to the gallery where the show was situated.
His gut was telling him that the show was important. The kid had the flyer for a reason tucked into the back pocket of his jeans.
The gallery was open and there were a number of people ambling through the rooms.
Bothray motioned around the first large room. Five photos were hung on either side. “Creation,” declared Bothray.
Jim took his time, pausing to look at each photo before crossing the room and doing the same. Bothray stayed with him, providing a running commentary on each photo.
“They are captivating,” Jim agreed absently.
So far though he couldn’t see that there was anything in the photos that would have caused someone to seek out a federal agent. Maybe Spock was right and they were placing too much importance on a flyer the kid had carried.
The second room was more of the same. Good photos, but Jim found himself agreeing with Bothray that the ‘Practice’ series was weaker than the first set. Except the ballet picture.
Bothray preened with delight when Jim commented that the Professor was right about how haunting an image it was; a single ballerina in pointed toes and stiff tutu in the middle of a dance studio in a puddle of sunlight, back arched, one leg standing straight, one leg lifted into a vertical line; lines and shadows emphasised the play of muscle and concentration.
They moved onto the third room.
Jim was surprised to see it decked out with a monitor beneath each photo. They were offered headphones and a digital listening device as they entered.
“Paulina wanted the viewer to submerge themselves in the experience,” Bothray explained. He gestured at the walls. “A photo of the moment which captured Paulina’s muse, a video of that moment so you can witness the live performance, and a recording so you can hear it.”
Jim nodded. He was intrigued and his intuition was stirring. He wandered along the first wall. The opera was breath-taking, the picture of Carmen’s death captured as the music played in his ear.
The middle picture on the second wall snagged his interest.
It was a small theatre company production of Hamlet.
The lead actor held centre stage, alone in a puddle of light.
Jim frowned.
The actor looked old to be playing Hamlet. But he was familiar. Maybe it was the shape of the head, the turn of his chin…Jim wondered where he’d seen him before.
He shifted to look at the video as the actor turned fully to the audience and struck the pose in the photo.
He pressed play on the audio.
“Now I am alone…”
That voice.
Jim froze.
The cadence and tone, the depth of feeling.
He had heard that voice before and he knew he’d found the reason why the kid had sought him out.
“…the play’s the thing,” the melodious voice continued sending a shiver down Jim’s spine, “Wherein I’ll catch the conscience of the King.”
Or, thought Jim grimly, the play was the thing in which to catch Aron Kodos, the missing genocidal cult leader of Tarsus Island.
o-O-o
“OK, Jim,” Chris said kindly as he sat back down behind his desk, “what did you find that you needed to tell us in private?”
Jim took a deep breath in and out. He ignored the concern radiating from Bones and Spock’s worried frown-line between his brows.
“If I’m right about what I discovered at the gallery, Spock’s going to have to step in as lead,” Jim said crisply, ignoring the way his stomach was knotting.
He’d already thrown up at the gallery, worrying Professor Bothray even though he’d made the excuse of a dodgy lunch.
He took another deep breath. “One of the photos in the show depicts Aron Kodos.”
Chris’ sharp intake of breath was echoed by Bones’ quiet ‘Fuck me.’
Spock frowned. “Are you certain? Aron Kodos has been missing for twenty years.”
“It’s his voice,” Jim said, trying to keep the shakiness out of his own. “I’d know it anywhere.”
Spock stilled as he registered Jim’s words. “For what reason would you be able to recognise the voice of Aron Kodos?”
Jim rubbed a hand over his beard and sat down with a thump on the leather sofa in Chris’ office. He gestured for Bones and Spock to take a seat.
Bones sat beside him and put a hand on his arm in support. Jim gave him a grateful look.
“What do you know about Tarsus, Spock?” asked Jim wearily.
Spock’s frown-line deepened between his impeccably groomed eyebrows. “I studied the massacre at the Academy.”
Jim waved a hand at him. “Lay it out.”
Spock glanced at Chris who gave a firm nod. “Very well then.” He gathered a breath. “Fifty years ago, a conglomerate of scientists bought the island of Tarsus off the East coast on which to build a self-sustaining community. They called themselves the Genesis Foundation. They established a community quicker than expected and many people flocked to the island to live only to find themselves subjected to stringent entry criteria.”
Bones got to his feet and poured Jim a glass of water from the carafe on the table. He handed it to Jim and sat back down.
Spock watched them with a hooded gaze. “Twenty years ago, the FBI was alerted by an anonymous source, later identified only as a boy called JT, that Tarsus had fallen under the leadership of one its scientists, Aron Kodos. They also communicated that they had suffered a devastating crop failure due to a bacterial infection and that food was scarce; that the population had begun dying from the same infection. The source claimed Kodos had killed the infected population, over six thousand individuals, in an attempt to contain the infection.”
Jim sipped his water and ignored his trembling hand.
“Kodos refused all contact with the mainland, with the authorities who were poised for investigating and to assist,” Spock continued dispassionately. “The FBI performed a raid. A fire broke out killing over a thousand more people. Kodos escaped the net. Four thousand people were saved, of which only nine were witnesses to Kodos ordering the massacre. The twentieth anniversary of the Tarsus raid was yesterday.”
Spock’s summary was a good rendition of what was in the public record.
“I was the anonymous source,” Jim said bluntly.
Spock reared a back a little in shock before he regained his equilibrium and nodded as though it confirmed his suspicion.
“I was thirteen when my mother sent me to live with a friend of hers from the college on Tarsus while she went to Africa on a project,” Jim said. “Sarah Jane and her husband, Jake, were scientists working for Genesis on sustainable water energy.” He took another sip of water. “At first things were great. Tarsus was living the dream: clean water, good crops resistant to most infections and bugs, self-sustaining in all ways, and with some of the best minds in the country. School was a trip.”
Jim had finally found himself challenged academically, pushed to demonstrate his own intelligence in a class of kids who knew just as much as he did, who were just as smart.
“I met Kodos about a month after I went there,” Jim said. “He was the father of a classmate, Lenore. He was already Governor. He took an interest in me. He’d been trying to get my mother to Tarsus for a while apparently. I considered him a mentor.”
Once AJ had been assured Kodos didn’t have some kind of paedophilia want to spend time with Jim, his best friend had poked fun at Jim’s fondness for Kodos.
“Then the crops started to die,” Jim recounted. “The communications tower had an explosion causing all the phone lines to go down so the computers couldn’t access the phone network to get a connection. And then the people started getting sick.” He looked down into the depth of his water glass. “My guardians were taken ill while I was at school. Kodos told me a neighbour took in their baby son and he had offered to house me. I was grateful.”
“You discovered his complicity in the events,” Spock deduced.
“Yes,” Jim agreed. “I found out about the plot to wipe out the infected and anyone who had been in contact with them…” he shook his head as though it would dislodge the memory. “With the help of my friend AJ, I managed to rescue nine of the kids we knew from school from the killing grounds.” He took another deep breath. “AJ didn’t make it. He was shot by one of Kodos’ guards.”
“You speak of the Tarsus Nine,” Spock realised.
Bones reached over and placed his hand at the back of Jim’s neck, squeezing gently in comfort.
“Doctor Leighton noted in his account of Tarsus that JT was captured by Kodos in the communications tower after the message was sent to the FBI,” Spock said, the hint of a question in his voice. “The inference is that he was killed.”
Jim nodded. “Kodos had me locked up in the basement of the Governor’s house. I was kept there until I was rescued. I was kept separate from the other survivors because of my knowledge of Kodos and when it was confirmed that he was in the wind…they let the rumour of JT’s demise spread to protect me.”
Spock nodded slowly. “You are certain it is him?”
“Kodos would give this speech to the condemned,” Jim said. “He would tell them how they were dying so the rest of us could live. I’ll never forget his voice.”
“So, what now?” asked Bones. “You can’t lead this investigation.”
“Spock will step in on the murder investigation,” Chris said. “I’ll step in to lead on the identification of Kodos. I’ll talk to the Director.” He looked over at Jim. “You’re going to have to tell your team. Are you prepared for that?”
Jim nodded grimly. He hated the idea of talking about Tarsus, but he would do it and…
“May I suggest I brief the team and you simply add anything pertinent?” Spock proposed.
Bones’ eyebrows shot up and he stared at Spock open-mouthed. He snapped his mouth shut and gazed at Spock with warm consideration. “I think that’s a good idea.”
Jim arched one of his own eyebrows in response. Hell must be shivering because it was about to freeze over, he considered wryly; Spock and Bones agreeing? It was a definite moment to remember. He sighed and pushed a hand through his hair. “I think it’s a good idea too, if you’re really OK to do that, Spock.”
“It would be my honour, Jim,” Spock said quietly.
Jim felt the breath catch in his throat and he swallowed down the urge to cry at Spock’s evident compassion for him.
“Right,” Chris stated loudly, breaking the moment, “I have an uncomfortable conversation with the Director to do so…”
Jim let Chris shoo them out of the room. He followed Bones to the conference room and accepted a bottle of water from the cupboard off to the side. He drank down a large gulp. When he looked up it was just Bones with him.
“Spock’s gone to get the others,” Bones said.
Jim nodded.
“You’ve had a helluva shock, Jim,” Bones said, “are you sure you’re OK to do this?”
“I can’t not be involved, Bones,” Jim said. “If this investigation brings in Kodos…I have to be part of it.”
Bones nodded, his dark eyes intent on Jim’s. “Promise me you’ll take a break if you need one.”
“I will,” Jim promised even though he knew he would never do it.
The knowing look Bones shot him gave away that Bones knew it too.
“You’ll stay with me while this is happening,” Bones said firmly.
Jim agreed to that happily; he really had no wish to return to his own house. He sighed. It looked like he was moving again.
“We’ll stop by later and pick up some of your stuff,” Bones said. “You can bunk in with me.”
“I’m fine on the sofa,” Jim protested half-heartedly.
“I’ll let Momma argue about it later with you,” Bones said dryly.
And yeah, he wasn’t going to win that argument.
o-O-o
There was a moment of complete silence as everyone in the conference room processed Spock’s briefing.
Jim kept himself still despite the urge to fidget. He wanted to flee from the scrutinising look Uhura shot him, too aware that her profiler brain was probably putting together behaviours and habits and fitting them into the puzzle piece of his history which had just been revealed.
“Spock will lead on the murder investigation going forward,” Chris said, pushing off the back wall where he’d been standing rather than sitting in the seat he’d had earlier that day at the end of the table. “Scotty, who’s best between you and Chekov to assist with tracking down Kodos?”
Scotty blinked owlishly behind his black frame glasses. He pressed his lips together briefly. “Pavel’s best placed. You’re going to need a social media trawl. He’s better at that.”
“Sulu, Jayleh,” Chris continued, “you’ll be assisting me with the Kodos search.”
They nodded briskly.
“Spock, Nyota,” Chris motioned at the pair, “you’ll focus on the murder investigation with Jim and ensure that all protocols are followed correctly. We don’t want a conviction failing because Jim was somewhere he shouldn’t be with the evidence or a witness.”
Jim grimaced. He hated the idea of having a constant baby-sitter, but he knew legally they were on thin ground keeping him involved at all.
“Yes, sir,” Uhuru answered.
Chris nodded, satisfied. “Team Catch Kodos with me; we’ll reconvene in my office to discuss next steps.”
There was a flurry of activity as they stepped out of the room.
Jim took a sip of his water.
Spock cleared his throat. “I think it would be prudent to consider that the young man may not have had the same revelation that you did, Jim.”
“The laddie was pretty young,” Scotty offered. “He must have been a babe at the time of the massacre.”
“Indeed, the age of the victim does make it unlikely that he could recognise Kodos,” Spock said, nodding at their lead forensic scientist.
Bones huffed beside him.
Jim grimaced. “Maybe the victim didn’t have the same revelation I did,” he conceded. “He may have spotted a different issue, although there was nothing else obvious I could see.”
“And it doesn’t explain how he determined that whatever issue he saw, he should bring it to you,” Bones pointed out. “If it was linked to Kodos, there’d be a reason at least why he sought you out in particular.”
“Would it be a reason though?” Uhuru asked. “Until just now we didn’t know the link between Jim and Tarsus.”
“He may have been recognised by some people from Tarsus after all of the publicity on the Garrington case last year,” Scotty suggested.
Jim resisted the urge to squirm, but gave a nod of acknowledgement that he had been recognised. The kidnap case of a private school bus from Garrington in L.A. had been high profile and the image of Jim carrying a young child out of the building where they’d been held had made online news headlines for days. He’d received letters from a few people who’d made the connection afterwards.
“We should also consider that we are still to establish that the victim was at the gallery sometime before his visit here yesterday,” Spock said.
Uhuru leaned forward, resting her hands on the table. “We have the footage from the gallery that the security team provided. I can start searching through it.”
Jim cleared his throat. “There is another possible link between the victim and Tarsus.” One he’d been thinking about since he’d heard Kodos’ voice in the gallery.
Spock raised an eyebrow in mute query for Jim to explain.
“The infection on Tarsus wasn’t natural,” Jim explained grimly. “It was a biogenic weapon. That information was kept confidential in the wake of the massacre.”
Bones’ brow lowered.
“For understandable reasons,” Spock murmured.
Jim looked at Bones. “The poison that the victim ingested…”
“You think the symptoms are similar,” Bones said, jumping ahead to Jim’s thinking as he so often did.
“I think the poison may have been a concentrated variant,” Jim nodded.
“I can follow up with the lab,” Bones agreed.
“We also have another couple of avenues we need to follow-up,” Scotty said, tapping his computer.
The monitor sprang to life.
“I’ve been back-tracking through the traffic footage to trace our unsub,” Scotty brought up a map with a highlighted route. “She left the café and got on a tram downtown. She disappeared into Chatter and didn’t emerge when they closed for the night.”
Chatter was a café and wine-bar near to the University and very popular with students and tourists. It was a good place to disappear into it.
“She changed her appearance,” Jim surmised.
Scotty nodded. “That’s my best guess.” He motioned across the table. “I’m running some software to try to determine her new look.”
If their lead on the unsub was stalled that left…
“Did Agent Sulu have success in tracking down the motel?” asked Spock, before Jim could voice the question.
Scotty tapped a few keys and Sulu’s carefully recorded success at identifying the motel appeared on screen. “Looks like he had just found it.”
Jim looked over at Spock.
Spock nodded decisively. “Doctor McCoy will investigate the poison, Doctor Scott will focus on the footage of the unsub, I will focus on the footage of the gallery.”
It was a good call. Spock had started out in forensic computer analysis and he still had a nerd-like interest.
“Agent Uhuru, you and Agent Kirk will follow-up on the motel lead,” Spock concluded.
And that was also a good call; it gave Jim something to do, got him moving which would help him feel less likely to vibrate out of his skin.
“We will reconvene at eighteen hundred hours,” Spock concluded.
Jim got to his feet and fell in beside Uhuru. They had a motel to investigate.
o-O-o
The Bamu motel chain was relatively new. Popular in Asia for its compact rooms and minimalism, the chain suited budget travellers who didn’t mind a no-frills experience. It had set-up in the States in San Francisco ten years before and had slowly started spreading out to most of the West coast’s major cities and towns.
The motel off the Bay was the oldest Bamu and Jim read through the details Sulu had gathered on his phone as Uhuru drove them to it.
“We’re lucky the victim chose this Bamu,” Jim noted with a sigh.
“Why’s that?” asked Uhuru, keeping her focus on her driving.
“Most of the newer Bamu’s do a virtual check-in and key retrieval, no actual person contact unless something goes wrong,” Jim explained. “This one’s old enough not to have the digitalised key retrieval yet.”
Uhuru hummed. “So our victim spoke to the check-in advisor.”
“Carrie Batto,” Jim reeled off the name Sulu had noted. “She recognised the description of the pink hair.”
“It’s always good when the victim or the unsub has a distinguishing feature,” Uhuru noted.
Jim tilted his head thinking about the red hair on the unsub. He tapped out a text to Scotty suggesting he focus on individuals with average brown hair coming out of Chatter.
They pulled into the parking lot outside of the motel and Jim got out of the car, tucking his phone into the inner pocket of his blazer. He kept a step behind Uhuru, letting her take the lead. In short order they found themselves in the manager’s office with the advisor who had just come off shift.
“We won’t keep you long,” Uhuru promised. She sat in one of the visitor’s chairs with Batto in the other. Jim leaned against the back wall, his phone in his hand once more to capture the notes.
The manager, an Asian woman named Mei Ling, sat perfectly composed in the manager’s chair. She was neatly dressed in a manager’s uniform of skirt, blouse and light jacket with a shiny gold name badge on the jacket pocket.
Batto wore the less formal advisor’s uniform of black pants and brand-blue polo shirt. There was a shiny steel name badge pinned to her chest. She wasn’t much older than their victim, Jim mused, taking in the youthful blond braids and make-up free fresh face.
“You mentioned to my colleague that you recognised the description of the young man we are investigating?” Uhuru prompted gently.
“Yes,” Batto nodded. “He’d visited about a month ago on a field trip with his own university to the Art Institute. When he checked in a couple of nights ago, I joked about him coming back and he told me he was hoping to take a friend of his cousin to see the art show; that he thought they’d find it interesting.” Her lips twitched into a sad smile. “I think he had a huge crush on the guy.”
Jim fought off the blush that wanted to rise in his cheeks and kept his eyes on his phone to avoid Uhuru’s amusement.
“Do you have a name?” asked Uhuru.
Batto glanced over at Ling.
Ling handed a piece of paper across the desk. “He was checked in as Peter Leighton.”
Leighton.
Jim closed his eyes briefly.
Peter was likely Tom’s cousin.
Tom was the most public of the Tarsus Nine. He was the oldest of them and a genius. The book he’d written had been a bestseller, he’d married Janet another one of the Tarsus Nine, and he was a bit of a media darling. Tom’s mission to track down Kodos was well-known. There was no doubt in Jim’s mind that Peter had been exposed to Tom’s investigations and artefacts. The likelihood of Peter spotting something other than Kodos was slim in Jim’s mind.
“He booked for three nights,” Ling continued briskly. “Once I spoke with Agent Sulu, I sealed the room, but it had been cleaned this morning in the way we do for all rooms with guests.”
“Of course,” Uhuru said. She returned her attention to Batto. “Is there anything else you can tell us?”
Batto shook her head. “I could tell he was preoccupied, but we only exchanged a few words.” She frowned and shook her head again. “I asked him about the book he was reading, it was in his hand? He showed it to me and I joked about him being able to read Shakespeare. That was it.”
Shakespeare.
Kodos had been performing a Shakespearian play. But the gallery hadn’t said which. Jim knew. He loved Shakespeare and he’d seen a few different theatre productions of Hamlet. Peter’s age had probably precluded him making the leap of knowledge, so he’d been reading the plays to find out which.
Peter had definitely made the same connection as Jim.
Uhuru tapped her phone to bring up a picture of their unsub. “Have you seen this woman before?” She handed the phone to Batto.
Batto shook her head. “No. I would have remembered the hair; that’s a gorgeous shade.”
Uhuru took the phone back and handed it to the manager who wasn’t doing a good job at hiding her own curiosity.
Ling peered at the picture for a long moment and shook her head. “No. She is not familiar.”
“Thank you, Ms Batto, Ms Ling,” Uhuru said, taking her phone back, “we’ll take custody of Mr Leighton’s belongings and leave you to your work.” She slipped the paper Ling had given her into her bag and got to her feet.
Ling got to hers. “Carrie, you may leave for the day.”
“Thank you, Mei,” Batto hurried out.
Ling smiled sharply. “Ms Batto is a single parent. The childminder will penalise her monetarily for lateness.”
Uhuru frowned. “That’s awful.”
“It is,” Ling said. “Carrie is a wonderful employee. I hope to see her develop her career in Bamu.” She led the way from the office through a couple of service corridors to an elevator.
They rode up in silence.
Ling led them down a clean and bright corridor painted in the Bamu brand colours. They stopped at a door and Ling slid a key-card through the lock device. The light flashed from red to green and there was an unclicking sound as the door opened. Ling opened the door and Uhuru stopped her.
“If you could please wait outside,” Uhuru instructed.
Ling subsided, stepping away.
Jim followed Uhuru inside, plucking forensic gloves from his pocket and pulling them on.
The room was neat.
A zipped-up duffle bag sat on the bag rack at the side of the room.
Uhuru pointed at the miniscule bathroom and Jim nodded his understanding that she’d search that while he took the main space.
The bed had been made, but he stripped it thoroughly and checked under the mattress. There was nothing there. Nothing in the bedside drawers. The desk only held the usual motel booklet and was otherwise clean. There was nothing hanging in the wardrobes. The safe was unlocked, the door open with nothing inside.
He moved onto the duffle bag.
He grimaced when his first side-pocket held a pair of dirty boxers. He moved on.
Spare clothing.
An iPad buried into an inner zipped up section.
Nothing else.
Uhuru walked out of the bathroom holding a clear bag with a man’s toiletry bag inside of it. “He was using the motel soap by the looks of it. It’s a pretty basic kit.”
Jim pointed at the duffle. “Clothing and an iPad.”
“We should get back,” Uhuru said.
Jim picked up the duffle. They made their way out of the motel. They dumped the evidence in the trunk and pulled out of the parking lot.
Uhuru turned to him hesitantly at a traffic stop. “I’m going to verify the identity and call Peter Leighton’s next of kin. Leighton isn’t a typical surname; do you think he’s connected to Thomas Leighton?”
Jim rubbed the side of his head. “I know Tom went to live with his aunt and uncle in Orange County after Tarsus, and I don’t know if they had kids, but now it’s been said, I can see how the kid looks – looked a bit like Tom. Different colouring, but their facial features are similar.”
Uhuru nodded and pulled forward into the traffic. “I take it you didn’t stay in touch with them?”
“I wasn’t allowed to at first,” Jim said. “When I was…” he shrugged. “I figured they had probably moved on, I had to move on…” he gestured vaguely. “Tom wrote to me after Garrington on behalf of the surviving Nine. He said they’d all realised I was JT but that they wouldn’t tell anyone.”
“Did anyone else from Tarsus recognise you?” asked Uhuru.
“A few people wrote to me,” Jim acknowledged gruffly. “All of them followed Tom’s lead, they just wanted to let me know and assure me that no-one would hear it from them.”
Uhuru glanced at him as they paused at another stop light. “Did you reply back to them?”
“Only to thank them for their discretion,” Jim said. “Like I said, we’ve all moved on.”
Uhuru’s lips pressed together briefly. “I’m going to need to verify the information that it is Peter Leighton with the DMLV.”
“Right,” Jim said.
“If it is, I’ll do the next of kin notification,” Uhuru said. “Do you want to be part of the call?”
Jim’s instinct was to say no. But if Peter Leighton was Tom’s cousin? He sighed heavily. “Want, no,” he admitted, “but if he is related to Tom? I should call be the one to tell Tom.”
Uhuru nodded. “I’ll have to be present, but Spock won’t have a problem with that.”
Jim breathed out. “Thanks, Nyota.”
The light turned green.
o-O-o
It took an hour before Uhuru had confirmation that the victim was Peter Leighton.
Twenty-one years old; a post-graduate photo-journalist student at UCLA. He lived with two friends in an apartment and had a side-business doing commercial photography.
According to his social media, he had no living parents, and his closest relatives were Tom, Janet and their five years old son, Arthur James. Jim’s heart had just about cracked open at the name.
Spock had given Jim permission to be the one to call Tom at the evening debrief. He had quietly followed Jim and Uhuru into Jim’s office to make the call.
Jim settled into his chair behind his desk and took a breath. He wished Bones was with him, but his best friend was still at the lab investigating the poison.
Uhuru put the slip of paper with the number in front of Jim. He touched the paper with a shaking hand.
She pressed the speaker button on his phone and dialled the number for him.
Jim waited anxiously as the phone rang.
There was a change of tone as the call was answered and then…
“Hello Doctor Leighton, speaking.”
There was a hint of the boy JT had known in the smooth adult voice.
Jim cleared his throat. “This is…” his throat closed on the formal introduction he’d intended. “Tom, it’s me, JT.”
“JT…” Tom’s voice rose. “This is…I’m so happy to hear from you.”
The comment that Tom had thought he would never hear from James went unsaid.
Jim closed his eyes. “It’s not…I’m sorry, Tom, this is…I’m calling you as part of an ongoing FBI investigation, Tom.”
There was a beat of silence on the other end.
“Is this about him, about Kodos?” asked Tom tersely.
“Right now, it’s about Peter,” Jim replied gently. “I’m sorry, Tom. I’m sorry that I have to be the one to tell you…”
“No, no, no…” whispered Tom, agonised as he understood what Jim was going to tell him.
“Peter died yesterday,” Jim ploughed on. “His death has been ruled suspicious.”
“Are you…” Tom said thickly. “Are you absolutely sure it’s Peter?”
“As certain as we can be,” Jim said. “We’ll need you to do a formal confirmation of identity.”
“Of course,” Tom said.
“We have agents from the local office on their way to you now to help you make the arrangements to bring you here to San Francisco,” Jim said. “They should be with you in the next ten minutes.”
“How…what happened?” asked Tom. “Was it a car accident or…”
“He died from ingesting a poison,” Jim said bluntly. He repeated his previous words. “His death is suspicious, Tom. We’re investigating.”
“Sorry, you said, I just…”
“No,” Jim said hurriedly, “don’t apologise. You can ask me anything.”
“I’m not sure…”
“Tom?” a voice called faintly in the background.
There was a noise at the other end, as though the phone had been dropped on a surface, and then the sound of muffled voices.
“Hello?”
A woman’s voice sounded down the line.
“Janet?” checked Jim.
“Yes,” Janet replied briskly. “Hello, JT.”
“I go by Jim now,” Jim said quietly. “Did Tom explain…”
“Peter’s dead,” Janet said baldly. “He’s…he’s very upset.” Her own voice shook a touch and Jim realised she wasn’t unaffected, just trying to hold it together.
“I was just explaining to Tom that there are local agents on their way to assist you,” Jim said.
Janet sighed. “Tom said it was poison? That Peter was killed?”
“It’s a suspicious death,” Jim repeated again. “We’re investigating.”
“Just tell me if it has anything to do with him,” Janet snarled.
Jim sighed again. “Jannie, please.”
Somehow the nickname and entreaty worked, Janet sighed at the other end of the phone, collecting herself. She’d always been quick to anger, gangly limbs combined with carrot orange hair and freckles had made her a target for the bullies.
A doorbell rang at Janet’s side of the call.
“It’s your agents,” Janet informed Jim. “We’ll see you soon, JT.”
The call ended. The dial tone almost surprising Jim. He stabbed the button to shut down the speaker and call his end before Uhuru could. He’d tried so hard to leave JT behind, but with one call, his denial had been swept away and Jim knew he’d never stopped being JT.
To be continued