D.R.T.

For the next decade, I'd been the man in charge at the difficult crime scenes. Two inmates on death row, thanks in part to our work and procedures. Hundreds more perpetrators off the streets. A lot of grieving families and victims helped to get closure. And if I wanted higher in the ranks, the doors were open. A capstone as Chief was still an option to close out my career. I preferred where I was.

Bree's career had been different, but still successful. She had made it into management at her work, having a team of 70 people working for her at Johnson Services. Some years, when her bonuses were up, she made more than I did, which allowed us to see some of the world, have nice vacations, and plan for a wonderful retirement a further decade down the road. We'd seen Europe, five times, South America, once, Australia, once, and Japan (twice). I think we were up to 41 of the 50 states, too. DINK, Dual Income, No Kids. When both spouses make well over six digits, there's a bit of money available.

While our love life wasn't three or four times a day anymore, after just over a quarter century of marriage, who's is? We still made love, multiple times for a couple hours, two or three times a week. And we had sex (quickies, or just oral) about as much. I still found her, in her late forties, as desirable as I had found her at 18. I had never strayed, never even really thought about it. Until I looked in the bedroom, I would have guessed that Bree hadn't, either.

But that was the past, her life, my life, my thoughts and memories. All that was left for me was finding a way forward, making it through each day. While I had friends, losing Bree meant the end of family. I was alone, completely alone.

Sometime after 7, over three long hours, and a shift change, they finally brought them out. My thoughts still centered on my loss, our love, the possible betrayal. My thoughts were a chaotic jumble, no longer the carefully organized, methodical set of questions and answers, procedures and tasking, that a crime scene normally evoked. Of course, almost every crime scene I'd ever worked had been impersonal in the past. This was personal. It was my home with tape around the yard and across the door, it was my street. It was my wife. This was as personal as it could get.

I stood when they wheeled out the bags containing the bodies. I stared as they pulled them down to the van. I started to walk towards the van, stopping half way, as my conscious mind finally triggered the awareness that I couldn't get closer. I stood 10 feet away, as Sharon directed the team. I don't know why she was giving them directions; they knew what to do. Perhaps she directed them for my benefit, as she glanced at me before diverting her face during the operation. She was trying to bring me back to focus on the here, the now, the familiarity of the procedures that I knew so well. I don't think they worked well, but at least I felt that small comfort.

After they closed the doors, that's the moment it hit me. There weren't many folks I needed to call, but I needed to do it. I called Bree's sister first, sparing the more prurient details, but letting Susannah know her sister was gone. I called my sister, Ellen, and did the same. To both, I answered the same two questions, and in the same way. No, I didn't know when the funeral would be. No, I was not alright, but somehow I'd get to there. It sounded trite. It probably was.

Finally, it was time to go myself. Walking over to Sean, I simply said "I'm ready now." He nodded, and called out for Jose Rentago to take me to the station, stick around, then take me to the Marriott Downtown after I was done.

The ride from the backseat was unsettling, never having ridden in the back of a cruiser. I mentally filed the feeling as something to talk with Sean about at some point in the future. The spouses aren't always the guilty ones, and it didn't help bring justice and healing to make them feel like a convict.

We went into Room 3, which was the nicest. Detectives Brian Rosen and Bill Turner came in within five minutes. They hadn't made me wait. I also knew that both of them should have been off duty three hours earlier. I was heartened by the fact the two of the top three detectives in the department were here. While, yes, they were interviewing me as a suspect, I knew that they would find Bree's killer, just as soon as I was eliminated as a suspect. Either Sean had put them on the case, or they had volunteered. Either way, I was grateful.

Rosen pulled out his recorder, then nodded to the camera. "This is being recorded. I have Captain Robert Elliot here, and we will be discussing the apparent homicide of two individuals Captain Elliot reported deceased in his home. One victim, positively identified as Brianna Elliot, the Captain's wife. The other decedent tentatively identified as one Charles Thornton. Captain Elliot, I need to inform you of your rights." He then proceeded to Mirandize me; just as I declined the offer for an attorney to be present, the door opened and an IA Lieutenant entered.

"Excuse me for being late. I'm Lieutenant Robert Parker, Internal Affairs. I need to sit in on this interview." That did take me back a bit. While IA would of course watch over a case where a suspect was a significant member of the force, I hadn't expected them to come to the initial interview. But then again, what would it matter?

"Captain Elliot, we need to establish a timeline. At the moment, we have a preliminary date and time of death. When was the last time you talked with your wife?" Brian began.

"Tuesday, about 2200, via my cell phone to our house phone. We talked about a half hour, mostly discussing my day in Atlanta, at the Forensic Science symposium. I attempted to call Wednesday, and Thursday, about the same time Wednesday, and in the morning, about 0800, around noon, and again at 2200 yesterday. I attempted to call before boarding my flight this morning at 0800 as well. I've given my phone to the CSA unit via Officer Joe Lewis at the scene. I had used it to do a quick video of the crime scene prior to the first Black and Whites arriving." Parker's head shot up at that remark.

"So you disturbed the crime scene before the CSA unit arrived?" he asked, sharply.

"It was my home, so there would be DNA linking me to the scene. I wore booties and nitrile gloves, and recorded from the moment I entered the building until I handed my phone to Officer Lewis. The only disturbance was to carefully retrieve the wallet and ID from the pants pocket of a pair of slacks on the floor. So no, I did not materially disturb the crime scene. In fact, until I walked up and observed the deceased, it wasn't obvious that it was a crime scene. While I admit that it smelled like death, it could have been accidental or natural." Parker didn't look convinced, and Brian looked pained. Oh well, it was done now.

"Do you have any people or combination of people who can verify that you were in Atlanta continuously or nearly so for the last 72 hours?" was the next question, as Rosen tried to take back his interview, casting a sidelong glance at Parker. Parker was oblivious to the looks he was getting.

"During the days, quite a few. At least twenty to thirty during the days, although you would have to talk with them about where any gaps are. During the seminars, there weren't gaps. None of the gaps are likely more than a half hour or so, and I was a thousand miles away from the scene here. Meals are covered by my credit card charges, if nothing else, but I ate with colleagues from other PDs during most of the breakfasts, some of the lunches, and some dinners; the ones I didn't are more interesting, because those were the times I was trying to get hold of my wife on the phone. The evenings were mostly networking until about 2100. I slept, alone, from 2300 to 0630 each day, so there are no alibis for that. However, each night from about 2130 to about 0730 I was alone, without alibis. You'll have to check the airlines to see if it's even possible that I could make it from Atlanta to here, get from the airport to home, then back to the airport and catch a flight that gets me back to Atlanta." I saw Parker write something down when I said that. "So you've got a ten.... no, an eleven hour window. My times are approximate. However, there are hard times for the flights taking off and landing, and the surrounding time is soft time. However, the shortest flight possible is what, two, three hours each way? My house is 40 minutes from the airport, and getting through the airport itself is at least fifteen minutes from landing to, say, a cab, your quickest way. So, call it five hours in the air, splitting the difference. Two hours ground time and travel time here. Add an hour, hour and a half total check in time for the two flights. And then travel time to and from the hotel and airport at each end, about an hour. That's what, nine and a half? Bare minimum? I mean, really, getting to the airport, getting a ticket, getting to the gate, and getting on a plane in thirty minutes in Atlanta? Or here? Not possible."

"You seem a bit anxious to get us to believe your story, Mr. Elliot..." Parker began.

"That's Captain Elliot, Lieutenant Parker. Captain Elliot. And I have to ask, why, exactly, are you interrupting my interview? This is a well respected member of our force who's just found his wife murdered in their home. This is not an IA issue. At least it isn't at this moment. If there is a reason why IA would be interrupting an investigation during the first 48 of it's start, I need to know what IA knows that I'm missing in my notes." Rosen stared at Parker defiantly as he questioned why IA was sticking their nose in.

"IA does not state the reason for an investigation when the facts are still unknown, and not to people not authorized. However, the murder of two people in the home of a Police Captain", as Parker acknowledged my rank for the first time, "and the discovery of the murder by that Captain, and his unit being the investigating unit raises serious questions. We are simply attempting to remove any doubt about the investigation."

"Then, in all professional interests, please kindly do your waiting in the observation area, not in my interview room. Get out." Parker was upset at that, visibly so. He wrote something in his notebook as he stood and walked out. We all heard the door of the observation room slam a moment later; he was watching, but would no longer interrupt.

"That was... unprofessional, Captain, and I apologize. I'd like to pick up the interview from here. Did you know, or know of, Charles Thornton prior to the discovery in your bedroom?"

"No. And I had no reason to suspect anything ill of my relationship with my wife, either, to spare you the next question. I... I have a hard time accepting that she may have stepped out on me. Even after seeing the aftermath with my own eyes." It was hard hearing those words from me; I'd heard similar words from other officers over the years. Being on the force was corrosive in many relationships; the stress of having your partner constantly in danger, the hours, the world weariness and burden that could keep some from being able to maintain the strong bond with others. The thousand mile stare of some officers who've seen too much of the evil and depravity of life. But Bree and I had long been past those stages in my life, and they had drawn us closer. We had been each others support system, our pillars. She had been my strength. And now, she was gone.

I began, again, to break down in my grief; for the first time since I had been a rookie, I began to shudder and shake from the adrenaline withdrawal.

"I'm... I'm not sure how much more I can help tonight, Detectives. I think I need to go to a hotel. I know, don't leave town. Officer Rentago was ordered by Commander Hallowell to take me to the Marriott when we were done; he should be waiting for me. I'll try to be back by 0930, unless you leave word with the hotel. Is that acceptable?" I was barely holding it together, but for the sake of my reputation and the respect of the officers around me, I was trying. Rosen and Turner could see it in my face, in my body language.

"This interview is stopped for now. Captain... Rob, do you need anything or anyone overnight? We can have an officer or a pair in an adjoining room?"

"I'd do it, but I think my services would be better used finding the person who murdered your wife." Bill popped in.

I shook my head, no, then stood and shook hands with the pair. I could see the sympathy in their eyes. I was one of them; this hurt them, too. And their spouses, who would now be worried.

I don't really recall much in detail other than impressions of the ride to the Marriott, of the room, of trying to rest. I'm not sure I rested; I may have simply laid on the bed, lost in my loss. The only thing that I remember was the phone call at around 0800. Turner called to tell me they didn't need me to return for a formal interview, though they did want to talk with me informally and off the record. They would meet me at noon, at Eggy's Diner on Lakeshore.

I thought about it for a bit, and then called on one of the local funeral homes; I knew I needed to start preparing that, as well, although I had no idea of timing, or when Bree's body would be released. It was heart wrenching to have to make an appointment for that afternoon at two PM. After doing that, I simply waited until the time came for lunch, the first thing I'd have eaten since the peanuts on the flight home, a lifetime ago.

I arrived just before noon, but Brian and Bill were already there, and there were three mugs of coffee on the table. After sitting down, Bill launched in.

"Captain, I've been looking into why IA got involved, especially so early on in such a sensitive case, and where there is no hint of a problem. I did it because it's one of the unusual threads of the case, and I needed to pick at that thread. Something is up, something big. It wasn't routine, you know that, but someone in IA is putting pressure out. Did you piss in someone's cornflakes out of the Commissioner's office, because someone has it hard for you. They want to pin whatever they can on you. There is already some discussion of whether they can get you suspended for going in after making the 911 call."

It didn't make sense to me, and I mulled it over while the waitress took our orders. My reputation was excellent, I'd never broken the rules, and only bent a few slightly (and rarely, at that) in my entire career. If someone upstairs had it in for me, it wasn't because I'd done something wrong. It had to be because I'd done something right. I passed on that thought to the two, just after the waitress took our orders.

Brian seemed to ponder that for a few minutes before he finally spoke. "Nine .40 Smith & Wesson rounds were fired; we've recovered all of the rounds, either in the bed, in the body, or in floor under the bed. At least three were fired from the doorway, and at least one was fired from the foot of the bed. I repeated that. .40 S&W rounds. I load those in my service pistol. So does Bill."

"So do I. Hell, almost the entire force uses those rounds. It's the standard issue round."

"Exactly. Match that with what you said a moment ago, maybe it's not about what you've did wrong, it would maybe have to be about what you did right. Something you did right, that perhaps someone didn't want you to do right?" I could see Brian's wheels turning as he stated that. He was a cat, pulling at the dangling thread, not knowing where it led, if anywhere, but knowing the thread was important.

"But you are wrong on one thing. IA was looking at you before the murders. That's why they were in the interview room. You were already being investigated. I don't know what they are looking at you for, but you were already under scrutiny. Strangely, I got word from IA that your alibi was confirmed before we even had a chance to start running it down."

I pondered that for a moment. "They not only are investigating me, they had to have had me under observation in Atlanta. They already knew I never left the hotel."

"They already knew." Brian confirmed. "That removes you as a primary suspect, which is why we're having this conversation. You're still on the person of interest list, though, at least. And that then beggars the question. Why are you being investigated? When did the investigation start? I hate to be indelicate, Rob, but... what the hell is going on?"

I was stunned. I'm a clean cop. I'd worked hard on my reputation, both on the force, and in my personal life. I'd tried hard to make sure that I set a good example for my brothers and sisters, for those who worked around and under me, and that I'd always tried to do the best for the people of the city. I'd tried to find justice for the victims, justice and closure for those who knew and loved them. I'd worked hard on that.

And now someone, somewhere, thought for some reason I might be dirty. Or maybe someone, somewhere, wanted me to be. The wheels turned, and for the first time since I'd finally broken last night, a piece of me, cold, clinical, analytical me, came back.

"The obvious first step, for you, is to find out why they are investigating me", I began musing out loud. "while the second is to see if somehow it's related to the double homicide. I have an alibi, it appears, from the very people who are most suspicious, which would be weaker, but still strong, without them. I would assume..." and I trailed off for a moment. Looking up from my coffee, I realized. "You've stepped over the line telling me this much. If they are investigating me, then they probably have a tap on my phone already, and have already been looking into... whatever they are looking into. They may have gone through my desk and locker at work; they're... you are actively going through my car, my luggage, my house as we speak. I shouldn't necessarily know any of that, yet. It could mess with your investigation; it definitely would mess with theirs if I was dirty. So, why? Why tell me that?"

Brian looked away, while Bill stared at the table. Bill finally had enough of the bile that rose in his throat while I stared at him. "Because... because there is now a rumor going around that they executed a sealed closed search warrant on your house on Thursday, knowing you were in Atlanta."

It took a moment to sink in. 'They executed a sealed, closed, search warrant on your house on Thursday.'

"What the fuck did you just say?" I shouted as I stood up.

Brian immediately grabbed me and pulled me down. "Quiet, Rob, keep it down. Quiet!"

Shaking, for the first time in a long time I felt rage. Someone had been in my house, after the murders. Someone had executed a warrant. And someone had left the bodies of my wife and her paramour in the bedroom for me to find the next day.

What the hell had happened here? Police officers don't work that way. We don't walk into a murder scene, search the building, and then leave the bodies. That was something that just goes against every grain of a good cop's being.

"It's a rumor, Rob. Just a rumor. And believe me, you're not the only one outraged that the rumor is even going around. The thing is... the rumor seems to have surfaced before you called in yesterday. It doesn't make sense, not one bit. But.. .40 Smith & Wesson rounds. The case, what there is of it, stinks. And somehow... I've known you too long, Captain. As near as I know, you're a fucking Boy Scout. So I have to ask... just the three of us. Is there something we should know, even off the record? This investigation... this investigation is going to be a hot steaming pile of shit, and it's in our laps. People in the department are going down if that rumor is true. One of them could end up being you. And I would rather not be someone's pawn. So Rob... talk with me. Talk with us." Bill motioned to Brian.