Paying The Piper - 11. Chapter 11

Quent left the crime scene team to their work. Not before throwing in his two cents, though. "Busy week, isn't it?" he asked a pert little blond while she snapped pictures of the blood splatter. As predicted, she made a face and a scathing comment on his lack of sensitivity. "You're so very easy," he said in parting and trudged back to his car.

He slipped into the front seat and pulled out the printout on Marcus. He'd run the kid's driver's license through the computer and come up with next to nothing. Marcus had never committed a crime. That he'd been accused of, that is. His record was spotless. And empty. Suspiciously empty. All Quent's vast online resources could tell him was that Marcus was a government employee. It had spit out one additional tidbit. A name and a phone number. M. Palmer. 202/555-8264. Quent flipped open his cell and dialed the number.

After two rings, a sleepy voice answered, "Do you know what time it is?"

Quent glanced at his watch. "One-forty-five a.m. Eastern Standard," he answered dryly.

"Who is this and why are you calling at one-forty-five in the morning?" the voice barked.

"My name is Quent. I'm Chief of Police for Farther's Run, a tiny town you've no doubt never heard of."

"You've got that right," the voice muttered.

"I'm calling about a Drew Marcus."

"Drew!" the voice exclaimed. Quent heard a thump and clatter in the background. "Is he all right?"

"I'm afraid so." He smirked when silence echoed back through the connection. "He's managed to embroil himself in a murder investigation."

The voice broke into laughter. "I'm sure he did. Did he solve it yet?"

"He's a suspect," Quent said through clenched teeth.

The voice sobered instantly. "I don't think so, Mr. Quent."

Quent discovered, quite unsurprisingly, that he disliked the man on the other end of the phone. "Is this K. Palmer?" he asked.

"It is."

"What is your relationship to Marcus?"

"Oh for God's sake…" Quent waited through some more background noise. When the voice returned, it was all business. "I'm Drew's boss at the Bureau. I'll vouch for him personally. If however, you'd like the number for the Deputy Director's office, I'd be more than happy to provide it."

Quent chewed that over. "Perhaps at a later date."

Palmer snorted. "Listen, Quent. You have a murder on your hands? Take advantage of Drew. In my opinion, he's one of the best."

Quent glanced out his window. Marci's body was being loaded into a waiting ambulance. "If that's the case, why is he living over a garage and doing data entry work?"

Palmer paused. "It's temporary. An extended vacation. His last case was extremely difficult. It was decided that he needed a break."

"What did he do?"

Palmer's voice grew defensive. "I beg your pardon?"

"I'm sure you heard me. Don't sugarcoat it, Palmer. He wouldn't be wallowing here otherwise. It must have been a serious screw-up." Quent tried, in vain, to keep the elation from his voice.

After a long pause, Palmer sighed. "He had a lapse in judgment. Listen, Drew's an exceptional agent. He has a real gift for computers, logic, game theory. Field work…is not his forte. He's had the training, of course, but hasn't logged a ton of hours."

"So he screwed up."

"Depends on who you ask. Regardless, the case ended well. You might even say he saved the day."

"I'll have to shake his hand."

Palmer laughed openly, and Quent frowned. "You do that, Quent," he said. "You do that. Good night." He hung up.

**********

Because Quent had to deal with another dead body, he sent Cale to the hospital alone. Marcus was with him, but he didn't count. Cale would need someone to run interference when Elizabeth arrived. For that reason, he held off calling her until he was nearly to the hospital himself.

"Hello?" her sleepy voice answered.

Quent made a face at the phone. She obviously hadn't been up pacing the house worried about her missing husband. "Elizabeth, it's Quent."

"Oh dear God!"

Quent echoed the sentiment silently.

"Is he dead?" Elizabeth began to sob into the receiver.

As if you would care, Quent thought. "No, Elizabeth. But he's in the hospital."

"Oh dear GOD! Is it serious?"

Quent felt his temper grow thin. "He's in the hospital! What the fuck do you think?"

He tried to regret his outburst. It was difficult. Elizabeth wasn't helping. "There's no need to yell," she snapped back. "I…I'm on my way. Just tell him to hang on until I get there."

Quent ended the call without responding. He broke the speed limit all the way to the hospital, ensuring himself at least a ten minute lead on Elizabeth. Fifteen if she was doing something fancy with her outfit.

He found Marcus by Cale's bedside. He pulled up in the doorway, shocked at what he saw. Marcus was holding Cale's limp hand. As Quent watched, Marcus stroked his thumb slowly back and forth over Cale's knuckles. Quent watched for a moment, then he closed the door behind him with an audible click. Marcus jumped and dropped Cale's hand like a hot poker, and the lights came on in Quent's head.

He walked slowly into the room, eyeing Marcus the whole time. Marcus met his eyes without flinching. Just as Quent decided on something to say, the doctor arrived.

"Ah, Quent. I expected we'd see you here at some point. Some nasty business out by the mill, I understand." Dr. Stuart Cobb stepped forward to shake Quent's hand, and Quent returned the gesture, barely disguising his distaste. Cobb was a fair doctor, he supposed, but he'd never shaken the pudgy geek look he'd sported all through his youth. His awkwardness was permanent, apparently. Good thing the man made a decent living because he'd never win a beauty contest or get laid otherwise. While Cale had been blessed with the body and face of an angel, his schoolmate, the future Dr. Stuart Cobb (he'd been Stuey back then) had always looked like a slightly misshapen Pillsbury dough boy.

"I can't really talk about an ongoing murder investigation," Quent said.

Stuart nodded. "I understand." He turned to Drew and smiled warmly. "Drew! How are you?"

Drew stepped forward to shake hands as well. He ignored Quent's look of disgusted shock. "Fine, Stuart. Good to see you again."

"A shame under these circumstances," Stuart said with a frown. He stepped forward to examine Cale. "Have you met Drew, Quent?" he asked as he bent over Cale.

Quent sent Drew a poisonous smile. "Indeed, I've had the pleasure several times over. And just how did you meet the famous Mr. Marcus?"

Stuart continued examining Cale, completely oblivious to the animosity swirling about the room. "Drew was in about a week ago with a strained shoulder. He'd been lifting too many heavy file boxes up and down those stairs over at Mr. Stahl's, I think." Stuart flipped open Cale's chart. "We'll release Cale by morning. The bullet just grazed the upper arm. Minor tissue damage. Lots of blood. Looks worse than it is." He smiled encouragingly at Quent. "He'll be fine, Quent. You can stop hovering."

Quent looked affronted. "I don't hover."

Stuart smiled indulgently. He clapped Drew on the shoulder as he left. "Take care of yourself, Drew."

Quent waited until the door swung shut. "You do get around, don't you?"

Drew flashed a lopsided smile. "Don't tell my mom."

"And so witty. No wonder everyone loves you." Quent elbowed Drew out of the way to stand next to Cale. His friend looked pale and drawn. Broken. Quent frowned. Logic dictated he shouldn't feel guilty. Still, he did.

"It wasn't your fault."

Quent turned around slowly. "Why, thank you, Marcus. I do believe I'll sleep better tonight." His voice dripped sarcasm.

Drew's eyebrows furrowed, but his smile didn't falter. "You really are an asshole." Quent snorted and turned back to Cale. "What does he see in you?" Drew wondered aloud.

Quent swung around. "Actually, I believe the question is – what does he see in you?" He began to stalk Drew across the room. Drew retreated two steps before holding his ground. He raised his chin. "Nothing," he said.

Quent halted, confused. "What?"

"You can relax. He doesn't see anything in me." He let the words hang.

Quent arched an eyebrow. "Somehow, I don't believe you." He pinned Drew with his black eyes. "Do you think I won't approve?"

They both heard a commotion behind the door. "I want to see my husband!" a high-pitched voice wailed. Elizabeth had arrived.

Drew didn't break eye contact. "No, I don't," he said.

"That college didn't teach you everything, did it?" Quent asked. A sly smile crept onto his face as he turned to let Elizabeth in.

**********

Elizabeth greeted them both perfunctorily. Quent made a face when she hugged Drew. He smiled evilly when Drew cringed away from her embrace, but took pity on the boy. "Take care of Cale, Elizabeth," he urged. Elizabeth gave a little cry and dashed to Cale's side, immediately fussing with his sheets and blankets. When Quent turned around again, Drew was gone.

He lasted fifteen minutes. In his mind, it equated to fifteen minutes of torture and that was enough for anyone. Even for Cale. Unable to stand Elizabeth's histrionics one moment more, Quent went in search of coffee. As bad luck would have it, Marcus had a caffeine craving at the same moment.

"Let me guess," Quent said. "Hot chocolate to match that sweet temperament."

Drew scowled. "Coffee. Black."

Quent harrumphed and stepped aside as Drew dropped his money into the machine.

"What now?" Drew asked as the cup filled.

Quent flashed his patented 'don't be an idiot' look. Drew's mouth dropped open. "Oh, come on, Quent. You can't still consider me a suspect in this thing? I got fucking shot at!"

Quent stirred sugar into his coffee. "Maybe the two incidents are not related," he offered loftily.

"And maybe pigs will fly out of my ass!"

Quent pointed his stir stick at Drew. "Now that I'd like to see." He swept out of the alcove that housed the vending machines. Drew followed.

"Seriously," he began. Quent cut him off.

"Yes, seriously, Marcus. Why do you care? You didn't know these people. Not really. Why. Do. You. Care." Quent punctuated each word with a jab of his finger.

Drew licked his lips. His eyes darted down the hall. "I just do," he said.

Quent flicked his stir stick at Drew's chest. "You've got it bad." He stood there long enough to enjoy the blush that crept over Drew's cheeks before stalking away.

He peeked into Cale's room, but Elizabeth was still fluttering about. Luckily, Cale was still sleeping. He found a family waiting room at the end of the hall and settled down to wait. He closed his eyes, praying for thirty minutes of uninterrupted non-alcohol induced rest. Less than two minutes later, someone else entered the room. Quent pretended to be asleep.

"I'm hard-pressed to believe you would approve of Cale cheating on his wife." Quent didn't even twitch. He heard Marcus sigh in exasperation. "Fine."

Quent sunk deeper into his chair, hoping Marcus would leave. He didn't. So much for wishful thinking. "I can help you, you know," Drew said.

Quent cracked an eye. Marcus was standing right beside him. "You're like a bad penny," he muttered. "Go. Away." Marcus sat down instead. College educated, indeed. "I said, leave," Quent repeated. He closed his eyes again.

Drew ignored him. "Don't you want to search Marci's apartment? Maybe get a clue as to why she was targeted?"

Quent curled his lip. "Better run home, boy. You'll miss the latest episode of CSI."

Drew laughed. The sound held enough genuine amusement that Quent's interest was piqued. He cracked his eyes open again. "Why are you still here?"

Drew smiled slyly. "I have a key to her apartment."

Quent's eyes opened all the way. "I beg your pardon?"

"You heard me. Marci gave me a key to her apartment."

"Why would she do that?"

"She trusted me."

"Why would she do that?" Quent repeated.

Drew shook his head. He laughed softly under his breath. "You remind me of someone I know," he said.

"By all that's holy, if you say your father, I'll shoot you right now."

Drew finished his coffee. "You won't get approval to search her apartment until sometime late tomorrow, is my guess."

"Careful, Marcus," Quent warned.

"But I have her explicit permission to be there. And I have a key." The offer was implicit.

Drew stood and crossed the room. Quent watched him carefully. He dropped his empty Styrofoam cup in the trash and turned to face Quent. "Coming?"

Quent considered for exactly ten seconds. "Let me check on Cale first. If he's awake, I need to tell him where I'm going."

"He's awake," Drew said softly. "I just checked."

Quent just smirked.