Fourth Wall - Part II
Nov. 7th, 2010 04:20 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
stringertheoryTitle: Fourth Wall
Rating: PG
Spoilers/Timeline: None, post-Season 2
Prompt: Artifact: Alfred Hitchcock's camera. (Don't shoot home movies of someone you'd really rather didn't die horribly with it.)
-SUNDAY-
The sound of the Farnsworth going off pulled Myka from sleep and out of bed. She stumbled across the small motel room to the chipped desk where she had left the Farnsworth the night before. Pushing hair out of her eyes and failing to suppress a yawn, she answered the call. A very awake, very serious Artie appeared on her screen.
“Myka.”
“Mornin’, Artie.”
He paused, taking in her disheveled appearance. “Did I -- did I wake you?”
“No, no,” Myka assured him. “I was just about to get up anyway.”
“Good. We have another victim.”
“Who? Where?” Suddenly alert, Myka was digging through the desk drawer for a pen and paper even as she threw questions Artie’s way.
“Rachel Emerson. A seventeen-year-old high school student from Bellevue. Found dead early this morning by her parents when they returned home from a late-night movie. Her body is with the King County M.E. I want you and Pete to go check it out.”
Myka nodded. “Have you found anything new on your end?”
“Nothing.” Artie sighed and took off his glasses, rubbing at his eyes. “Whatever artifact is causing this, it’s being particularly difficult to locate.”
“I’ll grab Pete and head over to the M.E.’s office. We’ll call you and let you know what we find out.”
“And I’m going to grab Claudia and see if we can figure out what we’ve missed."
“Talk to you soon.”
Myka closed the Farnsworth and placed it back on the table before walking over to the privacy door separating her room from Pete’s. She knocked on the door and called Pete’s name. When he didn’t answer, she pounded on the door and yelled a bit louder. There was still no response from the other side, so she opened the door and strode into the room.
Pete was lying on his stomach, snoring slightly, dead to the world. There was half-eaten cookie on the night-stand and Myka could see the television remote peeking out from under Pete’s pillow. With a shake of her head, she stepped over to the room’s solitary window and threw open the curtains. Early morning light streamed into the room and directly into the face of her partner, who shifted a little in his sleep, but otherwise remained undisturbed. Myka walked over to the bed.
“Pete.”
There was nary a twitch from the bed’s occupant. Myka put a hand on Pete’s shoulder and gave him a shake.
“Pete.”
He mumbled and nestled further into his pillow, but did not awaken. Myka stared down at him, ever so slightly exasperated. Then, with a wicked grin, she licked her index finger, leaned over, and gave her sleeping counterpart a sneak Wet Willy. With a yelp, Pete jerked awake, tossing himself over the side of the bed out of sight in the process. Groaning, he pulled himself up to his knees and peered over the mattress at Myka, who was watching him with a bland expression on her face.
“We have another victim. King County M.E. Leaving in 20.” She turned back toward the doorway.
“What - who - what just...” Pete spluttered. He lifted a hand to his ear. “Aww, that is gross, Myka.”
She threw a grin at him over her shoulder. “Be ready in 20.” The door clicked shut behind her.
---
M.E. Pridgen looked even grimmer than he had been when they left him the day before. He slid Rachel Emerson’s body out from her locker for them to inspect. She looked like she was sleeping.
“There are no signs of trauma to the victim’s body,” Pridgen pointed out. “No bruising, no stab wounds, no gunshot wounds, no ligature marks, not even needle marks - nothing to indicate that she was in any way attacked.” He stepped over to one of the nearby work tables and opened the file laying there. “I did a full autopsy and the only thing I can tell you is that she appears to have been poisoned.”
Myka looked up from where she was still examining the body. “Appears?”
“‘Appears’ is the best I can do, I’m afraid,” Pridgen answered. “Her internal organs don’t show any signs of poisoning, from either long or short term exposure, and the toxicology reports turned up clean.”
“So what makes you think she was poisoned?” Pete asked.
“It’s the only thing that makes sense.”
“Had she ingested anything prior to her death?”
“Coffee,” Pridgen said.
“Poisoned coffee?” Pete pulled the file across the table and skimmed over the reports. "Sounds like a movie.” He glanced up to find Myka and Pridgen staring at him. “What?”
“Anything else?” Myka asked Pridgen. “Anything strange or unusual?”
Pridgen shook his head. “The only thing strange about this is that I have no idea why she’s dead.”
---
Artie looked less than pleased when they relayed their findings to him.
“He doesn’t know how she died?”
“No,” Myka affirmed. “Pridgen said he couldn't find anything to explain what killed her.”
“I looked over the records, Artie. There was nothing there. It’s like someone just turned her off.”
“Something isn’t right here, something is definitely not right....” Artie backed away from the Farnsworth, brow furrowed. Muttering to himself, he walked out of view. In his place, Claudia slid into frame.
“Meanwhile, the only connection I was able to make between the first three victims and our latest one is their school.” She turned the Farnsworth so Myka and Pete could see her computer screen. With a few clicks, she pulled up what appeared to be a high school’s homepage. “Newport High. Home of the Knights. We contacted the school - ”
“I contacted --” Artie corrected as he reappeared in the background.
“Artie contacted the school and the vice principal, Kay Sorenson, is going to meet you there at three.”
“Perfect. Thanks, Claudia.”
---
For some reason that Adam found difficult to fathom, his little brother was an early riser.
Typically, Aaron would be up and about shortly after sunrise, and he usually dragged Adam with him. As Adam got older and more fond of sleeping in, the early mornings became fewer and farther between. With school, work, and household duties taking up so much of his time, sleep was precious. But he would still pull himself out of bed at the crack of dawn at least one weekend out of the month to spend some time with Aaron.
This particular morning had been spent in the backyard, fooling around with Max and playing catch. Aaron was hoping to try out for baseball, and Adam had been teaching him how to field balls and throw with precision. From what he had seen so far, Adam had no doubt Aaron would make the team.
They had been at it for a good two hours when Adam finally called for a break.
“Okay, buddy. I gotta stop for a while. My arm is killing me.” He made his way over to the back deck and sat on the steps, rolling his shoulder to ease the soreness.
With a shrug, Aaron tossed his glove down near a pile of the baseballs they had been using. Then he focused his attention on Max, who had been waiting patiently for his turn to play. Aaron started to run and Max gave chase. Then Aaron turned the tables and chased the dog. While they played tag, Adam dug his camera out from his bag and started filming them. He knew he had to be at work soon, but the situation was too perfect; it was just what he needed to finish his project.
“Whatcha doin’?”
Aaron and Max's circuit of the yard had brought them around near the deck, and Aaron had stopped to watch his brother watching him.
"Nothing,” Adam replied. Checking his watch, he turned off the camera and began packing up.
“Why are you always filming me?” Aaron asked.
“It’s a surprise,” Adam said with a grin and a wink.
Aaron lit up. “For my birthday?”
“Maybe.” Adam ruffled his hair. Shouldering his bag and reaching down to give Max a quick head rub, Adam headed around the house to where his bike was parked. “Tell mom I left for work.”
“When will you be back?"
“Around ten,” Adam said, maneuvering his bike through the gate and into the front yard. He shut the gate behind him and stood on his tiptoes to peer over the fence. “See you tonight,” he told Aaron.
"Bye!” Aaron threw a wave over his shoulder as he darted back across the yard, Max at his heels.
Smiling, Adam walked his bike to the road.
---
Newport High was clean, modern, and very empty.
Vice Principal Sorenson met them at the front door. She was in her mid-fifties, petite and fit. Her salt-and-pepper hair was cut very short and the dark brown eyes that watched them from behind wire-framed glasses were sharp. Myka had no doubt that she kept the students in line with very little effort.
“Thank you so much for meeting us, Mrs. Sorenson,” Myka said as they approached the entrance. The handshake she received was firm, and she could tell that she was being sized up.
“It’s Ms. Sorenson,” she corrected.
“Ms. Sorenson, we appreciate you taking time out from your weekend to talk with us.”
Ms. Sorenson turned her gaze on Pete, who froze momentarily like a deer in the headlights. “It isn’t a problem.” She turned and unlocked the door, pushing it open and holding it so for Pete and Myka to enter. Closing the door behind her, she set off down the hallway at a brisk pace, Pete and Myka hurrying to follow. “You wanted to check a few lockers, is that correct?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Pete answered.
“Might I inquire as to why?”
“We’re investigating the recent deaths of these students, and we wanted to see if there was anything in their lockers that could lead us to a suspect.”
Ms. Sorenson came to a sudden halt outside an office. “I’ll just grab the master key from my desk and we’ll get those open for you. Excuse me.” She stepped inside, leaving Myka and Pete in the hall.
"She reminds me way too much of Mrs. Fletcher,” Pete muttered.
“Mrs. Fletcher?” Myka asked with a raised eyebrow.
“Fourth grade. She was a terror. Sent me to detention more times in one semester than I’d been sent to in the four years before that.”
“Sounds to me like you were just a troublemaker,” Myka said. “Why am I not surprised?”
“That’s the thing!” Pete countered. “I never actually did anything in Mrs. Fletcher’s class. I never got the opportunity. She always caught me right before I put my plans into motion. It was like she was psychic.”
They both jumped slightly as the office door opened and Mrs. Sorenson strode out.
“I have the key,” she advised. “Shall we?”
“Lead the way,” Myka said, motioning for her to go ahead.
Their search of Owen's and Tyler’s lockers didn’t reveal anything more than the typical lack of hygiene found in most high school boys, as well as a lot of incomplete homework. Joey’s locker concealed a half empty pack of cigarettes, which Ms. Sorenson confiscated, her expression a combination of resignation and sadness. Other than that contraband, it, too, was devoid of clues. Rachel’s locker was in another wing of the school, and they headed off in that direction in silence.
“Schools on the weekends give me the heebes.” Pete shook himself.
“Too quiet for you?” Myka asked.
“Too quiet, too still, too... alien.”
“It is kind of creepy,” Myka agreed, glancing up and down the vacant hall.
“It’s downright unnatural for a high school to be like this.”
“I agree, Agent Lattimer,” Ms. Sorenson said. She stopped midway down the hall and turned to stare at him, something approaching a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth though her eyes were very serious. “It is most unnatural.” She opened a locker on the right side of the hall. "This was Ms. Emerson’s.”
Donning his purple gloves, Pete gingerly dug through the contents of the locker. There was a small mirror held to the inside of the door by a magnet. Surrounding it were pictures of Rachel and her friends. The locker itself contained a few notebooks, a small stack of textbooks, an overdue library book, and not much else.
“Did you know the victims?" Myka asked Ms. Sorenson.
She half nodded. “I knew the three boys from their many altercations with other students. They weren’t terrible boys, they just needed guidance.” She sighed. “Ms. Emerson was in the grade above them, so they didn’t have much direct interaction. I’m not sure if they knew each other outside of school. Ms. Emerson was well-known to the staff here. She was a star student and a prominent member of our jazz band.”
“What about Adam Jacobs?”
“Adam?” Ms. Sorenson asked, a puzzled expression on her face. “Is Adam dead, too?”
“No, no - he’s fine,” Myka assured her. “But it was our understanding that a lot of the ‘altercations’ Joey, Owen, and Tyler had were with Adam.”
“They did tend to pick on Adam more than anyone else,” Ms. Sorenson confirmed. “I’m not sure why. Maybe because he was quiet, maybe because he had picked on them when they were in grade school; you never know with these things.”
“What about Rachel? Did Adam know her?”
“Not that I know of,” advised Ms. Sorenson. “Though I do remember that at least one of the incidents between Adam and the three boys involved Ms. Emerson.”
“How so?”
"Adam had a bit of a crush on Rachel and they found out. They teased him mercilessly about it.”
“Myka?”
She stepped over to Pete and the open locker. “Yeah?”
“I found this in one of Rachel’s notebooks.” Pete was holding up a flyer advertising a coffee shop.
“A coffee shop?”
“The last thing Rachel drank was...”
“Coffee.”
---
“A coffee shop?” Claudia asked. Behind her, Artie kept appearing and disappearing from frame.
“The M.E. found coffee in Rachel’s stomach,” Myka explained. “If she got it from this shop, we’re hoping someone there will remember seeing her.
“And if someone did poison her, they would have had to get close.” Pete shrugged. “Maybe they were noticed.”
“Well... when are you going?” Claudia asked. Somewhere out of sight came the sound of a loud crash, followed by Artie’s muffled voice advising that he was okay.
“It isn’t open this afternoon,” Myka advised. “They reopen in the morning at 6:30. We’re going to swing by th-- Artie, what are you doing?”
Artie, who had just reappeared behind Claudia shoulder and was frantically typing at the computer keyboard, glanced up sharply.
“I’m coming to you.”
“What? Artie why--”
“Something very strange is going on,” he replied. “I don’t - I haven’t been able to pinpoint the problem and at this point I think I need to be there, on the ground, to figure this thing out.” He turned to place a hand on Claudia’s shoulder. “Claudia is going to stay here and be our techno-guide.” He paused to turn her chair slightly so he could look her in the eyes. “And to hold down the fort and not burn down the Warehouse while I’m away.”
Claudia brushed his hand off her shoulder and swiveled back around. “I got this, old man. Go."
“Artie --” Myka began.
Artie leaned in close to the Farnsworth’s screen. “I’ll be there tomorrow morning. Don’t wait around for me.” Then the screen went black.
Pete and Myka looked at each other.
“Dinner?” Myka asked.
“I think we deserve something nice,” Pete agreed.
“Me, too.”
Part I - here.
Part III - here.
Rating: PG
Spoilers/Timeline: None, post-Season 2
Prompt: Artifact: Alfred Hitchcock's camera. (Don't shoot home movies of someone you'd really rather didn't die horribly with it.)
-SUNDAY-
The sound of the Farnsworth going off pulled Myka from sleep and out of bed. She stumbled across the small motel room to the chipped desk where she had left the Farnsworth the night before. Pushing hair out of her eyes and failing to suppress a yawn, she answered the call. A very awake, very serious Artie appeared on her screen.
“Myka.”
“Mornin’, Artie.”
He paused, taking in her disheveled appearance. “Did I -- did I wake you?”
“No, no,” Myka assured him. “I was just about to get up anyway.”
“Good. We have another victim.”
“Who? Where?” Suddenly alert, Myka was digging through the desk drawer for a pen and paper even as she threw questions Artie’s way.
“Rachel Emerson. A seventeen-year-old high school student from Bellevue. Found dead early this morning by her parents when they returned home from a late-night movie. Her body is with the King County M.E. I want you and Pete to go check it out.”
Myka nodded. “Have you found anything new on your end?”
“Nothing.” Artie sighed and took off his glasses, rubbing at his eyes. “Whatever artifact is causing this, it’s being particularly difficult to locate.”
“I’ll grab Pete and head over to the M.E.’s office. We’ll call you and let you know what we find out.”
“And I’m going to grab Claudia and see if we can figure out what we’ve missed."
“Talk to you soon.”
Myka closed the Farnsworth and placed it back on the table before walking over to the privacy door separating her room from Pete’s. She knocked on the door and called Pete’s name. When he didn’t answer, she pounded on the door and yelled a bit louder. There was still no response from the other side, so she opened the door and strode into the room.
Pete was lying on his stomach, snoring slightly, dead to the world. There was half-eaten cookie on the night-stand and Myka could see the television remote peeking out from under Pete’s pillow. With a shake of her head, she stepped over to the room’s solitary window and threw open the curtains. Early morning light streamed into the room and directly into the face of her partner, who shifted a little in his sleep, but otherwise remained undisturbed. Myka walked over to the bed.
“Pete.”
There was nary a twitch from the bed’s occupant. Myka put a hand on Pete’s shoulder and gave him a shake.
“Pete.”
He mumbled and nestled further into his pillow, but did not awaken. Myka stared down at him, ever so slightly exasperated. Then, with a wicked grin, she licked her index finger, leaned over, and gave her sleeping counterpart a sneak Wet Willy. With a yelp, Pete jerked awake, tossing himself over the side of the bed out of sight in the process. Groaning, he pulled himself up to his knees and peered over the mattress at Myka, who was watching him with a bland expression on her face.
“We have another victim. King County M.E. Leaving in 20.” She turned back toward the doorway.
“What - who - what just...” Pete spluttered. He lifted a hand to his ear. “Aww, that is gross, Myka.”
She threw a grin at him over her shoulder. “Be ready in 20.” The door clicked shut behind her.
---
M.E. Pridgen looked even grimmer than he had been when they left him the day before. He slid Rachel Emerson’s body out from her locker for them to inspect. She looked like she was sleeping.
“There are no signs of trauma to the victim’s body,” Pridgen pointed out. “No bruising, no stab wounds, no gunshot wounds, no ligature marks, not even needle marks - nothing to indicate that she was in any way attacked.” He stepped over to one of the nearby work tables and opened the file laying there. “I did a full autopsy and the only thing I can tell you is that she appears to have been poisoned.”
Myka looked up from where she was still examining the body. “Appears?”
“‘Appears’ is the best I can do, I’m afraid,” Pridgen answered. “Her internal organs don’t show any signs of poisoning, from either long or short term exposure, and the toxicology reports turned up clean.”
“So what makes you think she was poisoned?” Pete asked.
“It’s the only thing that makes sense.”
“Had she ingested anything prior to her death?”
“Coffee,” Pridgen said.
“Poisoned coffee?” Pete pulled the file across the table and skimmed over the reports. "Sounds like a movie.” He glanced up to find Myka and Pridgen staring at him. “What?”
“Anything else?” Myka asked Pridgen. “Anything strange or unusual?”
Pridgen shook his head. “The only thing strange about this is that I have no idea why she’s dead.”
---
Artie looked less than pleased when they relayed their findings to him.
“He doesn’t know how she died?”
“No,” Myka affirmed. “Pridgen said he couldn't find anything to explain what killed her.”
“I looked over the records, Artie. There was nothing there. It’s like someone just turned her off.”
“Something isn’t right here, something is definitely not right....” Artie backed away from the Farnsworth, brow furrowed. Muttering to himself, he walked out of view. In his place, Claudia slid into frame.
“Meanwhile, the only connection I was able to make between the first three victims and our latest one is their school.” She turned the Farnsworth so Myka and Pete could see her computer screen. With a few clicks, she pulled up what appeared to be a high school’s homepage. “Newport High. Home of the Knights. We contacted the school - ”
“I contacted --” Artie corrected as he reappeared in the background.
“Artie contacted the school and the vice principal, Kay Sorenson, is going to meet you there at three.”
“Perfect. Thanks, Claudia.”
---
For some reason that Adam found difficult to fathom, his little brother was an early riser.
Typically, Aaron would be up and about shortly after sunrise, and he usually dragged Adam with him. As Adam got older and more fond of sleeping in, the early mornings became fewer and farther between. With school, work, and household duties taking up so much of his time, sleep was precious. But he would still pull himself out of bed at the crack of dawn at least one weekend out of the month to spend some time with Aaron.
This particular morning had been spent in the backyard, fooling around with Max and playing catch. Aaron was hoping to try out for baseball, and Adam had been teaching him how to field balls and throw with precision. From what he had seen so far, Adam had no doubt Aaron would make the team.
They had been at it for a good two hours when Adam finally called for a break.
“Okay, buddy. I gotta stop for a while. My arm is killing me.” He made his way over to the back deck and sat on the steps, rolling his shoulder to ease the soreness.
With a shrug, Aaron tossed his glove down near a pile of the baseballs they had been using. Then he focused his attention on Max, who had been waiting patiently for his turn to play. Aaron started to run and Max gave chase. Then Aaron turned the tables and chased the dog. While they played tag, Adam dug his camera out from his bag and started filming them. He knew he had to be at work soon, but the situation was too perfect; it was just what he needed to finish his project.
“Whatcha doin’?”
Aaron and Max's circuit of the yard had brought them around near the deck, and Aaron had stopped to watch his brother watching him.
"Nothing,” Adam replied. Checking his watch, he turned off the camera and began packing up.
“Why are you always filming me?” Aaron asked.
“It’s a surprise,” Adam said with a grin and a wink.
Aaron lit up. “For my birthday?”
“Maybe.” Adam ruffled his hair. Shouldering his bag and reaching down to give Max a quick head rub, Adam headed around the house to where his bike was parked. “Tell mom I left for work.”
“When will you be back?"
“Around ten,” Adam said, maneuvering his bike through the gate and into the front yard. He shut the gate behind him and stood on his tiptoes to peer over the fence. “See you tonight,” he told Aaron.
"Bye!” Aaron threw a wave over his shoulder as he darted back across the yard, Max at his heels.
Smiling, Adam walked his bike to the road.
---
Newport High was clean, modern, and very empty.
Vice Principal Sorenson met them at the front door. She was in her mid-fifties, petite and fit. Her salt-and-pepper hair was cut very short and the dark brown eyes that watched them from behind wire-framed glasses were sharp. Myka had no doubt that she kept the students in line with very little effort.
“Thank you so much for meeting us, Mrs. Sorenson,” Myka said as they approached the entrance. The handshake she received was firm, and she could tell that she was being sized up.
“It’s Ms. Sorenson,” she corrected.
“Ms. Sorenson, we appreciate you taking time out from your weekend to talk with us.”
Ms. Sorenson turned her gaze on Pete, who froze momentarily like a deer in the headlights. “It isn’t a problem.” She turned and unlocked the door, pushing it open and holding it so for Pete and Myka to enter. Closing the door behind her, she set off down the hallway at a brisk pace, Pete and Myka hurrying to follow. “You wanted to check a few lockers, is that correct?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Pete answered.
“Might I inquire as to why?”
“We’re investigating the recent deaths of these students, and we wanted to see if there was anything in their lockers that could lead us to a suspect.”
Ms. Sorenson came to a sudden halt outside an office. “I’ll just grab the master key from my desk and we’ll get those open for you. Excuse me.” She stepped inside, leaving Myka and Pete in the hall.
"She reminds me way too much of Mrs. Fletcher,” Pete muttered.
“Mrs. Fletcher?” Myka asked with a raised eyebrow.
“Fourth grade. She was a terror. Sent me to detention more times in one semester than I’d been sent to in the four years before that.”
“Sounds to me like you were just a troublemaker,” Myka said. “Why am I not surprised?”
“That’s the thing!” Pete countered. “I never actually did anything in Mrs. Fletcher’s class. I never got the opportunity. She always caught me right before I put my plans into motion. It was like she was psychic.”
They both jumped slightly as the office door opened and Mrs. Sorenson strode out.
“I have the key,” she advised. “Shall we?”
“Lead the way,” Myka said, motioning for her to go ahead.
Their search of Owen's and Tyler’s lockers didn’t reveal anything more than the typical lack of hygiene found in most high school boys, as well as a lot of incomplete homework. Joey’s locker concealed a half empty pack of cigarettes, which Ms. Sorenson confiscated, her expression a combination of resignation and sadness. Other than that contraband, it, too, was devoid of clues. Rachel’s locker was in another wing of the school, and they headed off in that direction in silence.
“Schools on the weekends give me the heebes.” Pete shook himself.
“Too quiet for you?” Myka asked.
“Too quiet, too still, too... alien.”
“It is kind of creepy,” Myka agreed, glancing up and down the vacant hall.
“It’s downright unnatural for a high school to be like this.”
“I agree, Agent Lattimer,” Ms. Sorenson said. She stopped midway down the hall and turned to stare at him, something approaching a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth though her eyes were very serious. “It is most unnatural.” She opened a locker on the right side of the hall. "This was Ms. Emerson’s.”
Donning his purple gloves, Pete gingerly dug through the contents of the locker. There was a small mirror held to the inside of the door by a magnet. Surrounding it were pictures of Rachel and her friends. The locker itself contained a few notebooks, a small stack of textbooks, an overdue library book, and not much else.
“Did you know the victims?" Myka asked Ms. Sorenson.
She half nodded. “I knew the three boys from their many altercations with other students. They weren’t terrible boys, they just needed guidance.” She sighed. “Ms. Emerson was in the grade above them, so they didn’t have much direct interaction. I’m not sure if they knew each other outside of school. Ms. Emerson was well-known to the staff here. She was a star student and a prominent member of our jazz band.”
“What about Adam Jacobs?”
“Adam?” Ms. Sorenson asked, a puzzled expression on her face. “Is Adam dead, too?”
“No, no - he’s fine,” Myka assured her. “But it was our understanding that a lot of the ‘altercations’ Joey, Owen, and Tyler had were with Adam.”
“They did tend to pick on Adam more than anyone else,” Ms. Sorenson confirmed. “I’m not sure why. Maybe because he was quiet, maybe because he had picked on them when they were in grade school; you never know with these things.”
“What about Rachel? Did Adam know her?”
“Not that I know of,” advised Ms. Sorenson. “Though I do remember that at least one of the incidents between Adam and the three boys involved Ms. Emerson.”
“How so?”
"Adam had a bit of a crush on Rachel and they found out. They teased him mercilessly about it.”
“Myka?”
She stepped over to Pete and the open locker. “Yeah?”
“I found this in one of Rachel’s notebooks.” Pete was holding up a flyer advertising a coffee shop.
“A coffee shop?”
“The last thing Rachel drank was...”
“Coffee.”
---
“A coffee shop?” Claudia asked. Behind her, Artie kept appearing and disappearing from frame.
“The M.E. found coffee in Rachel’s stomach,” Myka explained. “If she got it from this shop, we’re hoping someone there will remember seeing her.
“And if someone did poison her, they would have had to get close.” Pete shrugged. “Maybe they were noticed.”
“Well... when are you going?” Claudia asked. Somewhere out of sight came the sound of a loud crash, followed by Artie’s muffled voice advising that he was okay.
“It isn’t open this afternoon,” Myka advised. “They reopen in the morning at 6:30. We’re going to swing by th-- Artie, what are you doing?”
Artie, who had just reappeared behind Claudia shoulder and was frantically typing at the computer keyboard, glanced up sharply.
“I’m coming to you.”
“What? Artie why--”
“Something very strange is going on,” he replied. “I don’t - I haven’t been able to pinpoint the problem and at this point I think I need to be there, on the ground, to figure this thing out.” He turned to place a hand on Claudia’s shoulder. “Claudia is going to stay here and be our techno-guide.” He paused to turn her chair slightly so he could look her in the eyes. “And to hold down the fort and not burn down the Warehouse while I’m away.”
Claudia brushed his hand off her shoulder and swiveled back around. “I got this, old man. Go."
“Artie --” Myka began.
Artie leaned in close to the Farnsworth’s screen. “I’ll be there tomorrow morning. Don’t wait around for me.” Then the screen went black.
Pete and Myka looked at each other.
“Dinner?” Myka asked.
“I think we deserve something nice,” Pete agreed.
“Me, too.”
Part I - here.
Part III - here.