Fandom: Due South
Summary: A woman in the snow, a note and its impact.
Author’s Note: This is *not* a happy Christmas story (though no Mounties or Cops were sacrificed in the making of this story). Angsty and sad with (I hope) a message of hope entwined. (With a nod to Smilla’s Sense of Snow.) Thanks to Marilea, as always, for saving me from myself (also known as beta reading).
Phones rang. Suspects filled the halls, the interrogation rooms, the holding cells. Every seat was filled. Even the johns (bathrooms, that is) were operating at full capacity. Officers, both uniforms and plainclothes were frazzled and exhausted, most surviving on little more than bad coffee and junk food. Forget sleep. The holiday rush was in full throttle at the twenty seventh precinct.
Only three days left until Christmas. The busiest time of the year.
No rest for a weary Italian-American cop.
“Come on, Fraser. Let’s get out of here and get that Chinese before something else comes up.’? They were in the process of putting on their coats when Lieutenant Welsh stepped out of his office.
“Vecchio!”
“Ah, Lieutenant… Fraser and I were just going out to get some . . .”
Welsh cut right across Ray, “Good. You’ve got your coats on.”
“That’s because–”
“We’ve got a body in an alley. Looks like it came from one of the windows overlooking.”
“But Lieutenant . . .” Ray was in full, hunger-induced whine.
“Look around here. You see anyone else who isn’t in the middle of something.”
Fraser did take a look as Welsh instructed. “Well, Ray, he has a point.”
“Benny, stay outta this.”
“Okay, Ray.”
It was true. Ray knew it without looking. Every other cop in the place was as busy as he had been until just a few minutes ago. But he didn’t want to postpone dinner again. His stomach had gone beyond rumbling. It was threatening to shut down altogether and move to another location if he didn’t do something soon.
“But, sir . . .”
“Vecchio, can it.” Welsh held out a slip with the information on it.
“Aah. This is just not fair. Even cops are allowed to eat once in awhile.”
“Pick up something from the canteen on your way out.”
“But–”
“Not another word unless it’s a yes, followed by a sir.”
“Yes, sir.” He took the slip. Not just a case. A dead body case. Just what he needed at this point — a possible homicide. He’d be lucky to get dinner before breakfast.
Welsh went back into his office. Ray headed toward the canteen. Fraser followed Ray.
“Great. Just great. Couldn’t you move any faster, Benny? We coulda been outta here.”
“Ray, that’s not fair.”
“Who said life’s fair?”
“Fairness is something we bring to life, Ray. It isn’t something that life brings to us.”
“Fair is a decent dinner.” Ray stared at the vending machines in dismay. “Aah, look at this stuff.” He slipped a dollar bill into a machine which promptly spat it back at him.
“I don’t believe my presence factored into any delay that resulted in your being selected by the Leftenant to pursue this investigation.”
“You’re still on about that?”
Fraser’s thumb stroked his brow as Ray tried once again to get the machine to take his bill. Out came the bill.
“Well . . .”
“You got a better bill than this?” Ray held up the offending piece of currency.
“Sorry, Canadian.”
“Why do they pay you in that stuff if you’re living here?”
“Regulations, Ray.”
“I give up.” He stuffed the bill into his pocket. “I don’t want any of this junk anyway. Let’s get outta here.”
Fraser followed his friend out through the station into the cold, snowy night.
One unremarkable car ride later, they were standing over a piece of blue plastic tarp. Although the form beneath it didn’t seem substantial enough, the two men knew that under the plastic was the body of what had been until very recently a warm, alive woman. The uniformed officers had covered her to keep the snow from accumulating on the body–at least any more than it had before the police unit had arrived.
The sparse crowd at the end of the alley was held back only by the two uniforms, curiosity pulling the onlookers’ focus to the small blue mound, as it slowly disappeared under falling snow. The tarp also performed the function of keeping the body from being seen by the gawkers. At least one person had a video camera pointed in their direction, probably hoping for a sale to the nightly news.
Both cop and Mountie found the scene depressing.
The Medical Examiner, Esther Pearson, arrived only moments after them.
The blonde M.E. was dressed for a date, in fact she was with a date. She asked him to wait for her in the car and then headed toward the alley.
After making her way through the small group of onlookers, she pulled a pair of latex gloves from the pocket of her elegant black swing coat, slipping them on with the ease of habit. The contrast of the gloves with her evening wear did not escape the notice of either man. She obviously carried them with her everywhere.
Makes for an interesting date. Ray couldn’t help observing. Fortunately, he kept the observation to himself. Wonder what else she carries around with her?
She joined them in the dimly lit passageway. All three of them held flashlights which they used to help one another conduct their individual examinations.
Pearson knelt, peeled back the cold-stiff vinyl and began her careful, but quick preliminary on-scene exam. It didn’t take long to glean the basics. When she finished she stood up again, slipping off the gloves and tossing them into a Ziploc bag. She would dispose of them later. Ever since she had happened to see a civilian at a crime scene remove a discarded pair from the trash she had developed the habit of taking the used gloves with her.
She gave Vecchio what little information she had, making sure to include the Mountie in what she passed along, although she was sure he had no official status in this case.
“Female. Caucasian. Approximate age: early to mid-thirties. Contusions to the head and torso. Massive head trauma. Multiple fractures. She fell or was pushed. All other injuries evident on quick examination are consistent with a lengthy fall.”
At this point, Fraser interjected. “From the position of the body in relation to the two buildings it would appear she fell — or was pushed –from this one.”
“Agreed,” threw in Pearson. They all looked up at the five story building. All visible windows were closed. “Most likely from the roof.”
“No identification on her,” Ray put in.
Ray walked over to the end of the alley. He spoke to one of the uniformed officers. “Riley, anyone see anything? Anyone know who she is?”
“No one seems to have seen anything. But there’s a man here says he’s the super of this building.” She indicated the building behind her, the same building from which they believed the woman had fallen. “If she’s a tenant he might be able to make an I.D.”
“Yeah, thanks. Which guy?”
The young looking officer turned toward the waiting group. “Mr. Kulicki.” A small man with thinning brown hair moved forward. He had a pleasant, though somewhat weathered face.
“Yes, officer.” There was a definite accent. Eastern European maybe, Ray thought, though he couldn’t place it.
“Mr. Kulicki. Detective Vecchio. I’d like you to take a look and see if you can identify the body of the woman in the alley. You think you can do that? She might be someone who lived in your building.”
To his credit, the man did not appear eager to see the body, as some of the others waiting around obviously were, nor did he seem squeamish enough to pass out or be sick at the sight of death. He struck Ray as someone who had seen death before, maybe in some of its less peaceful forms.
Kulicki moved toward Ray and away from the growing crowd. The added personnel and vehicles were attracting more people by the minute. Ray noticed the ambulance making its way down the street. No flashing lights this trip, no life to be saved here.
Ray turned and headed back toward the still unknown woman. The shorter man followed him dutifully.
Fraser and Pearson were in deep, thoughtful discussion. Their heads were tilted toward one another, Fraser’s Stetson somewhat shielding Esther from the snow. Ray thought it could have looked like a romantic exchange under different circumstances. *And with two totally different personalities.
Actually make that one…* He thought Pearson had made it quite clear that she’d be interested if Benny were. But Benny didn’t seem to be. Benny never is. Least not that I can ever tell. Can anybody be that uptight?
“This is Mr. Kulicki. He’s the super of this building. He’s going to take a look and see if he recognizes the deceased.”
God, I hate that word, but wha’re you gonna do? The deceased. The body? The dead woman? What way was there to make it sound right? None at all.
The man stepped right up to the woman’s side. He knelt down without touching anything. Ray noted that he did this without being told — he knew. He’d been in the presence of violent death before. Ray was sure of it.
The super leaned over until he could see the face illuminated by the flashlights pointed down on it. He let out a sad sigh. “I know her. Ms. Allinette. 3D. Her first name starts with C. I don’t know what it is.”
“Thank you, Mr. Kulicki. I assume you have the key.”
“Yes, of course.” He stood up.
“Would you wait for us at the building entrance. We’ll be right there.”
“Sure.” He left looking sad, shaken.
Pearson came over to Ray. She filled him in on the details she had gleaned.
“There’s not much to add. No signs of a struggle, but a clean shove off a roof wouldn’t leave anything. That means we’re still in the same place — it could be murder, accident or suicide. It does look like the fall was from roof height though, in terms of the nature and severity of the injuries. Either that or one of the uppermost floors. Almost impossible from her apartment on the third floor.”
As the M.E. spoke Ray became aware that Fraser had stopped scanning the area for evidence and was now standing looking down at the dead woman’s body.
“Thanks.” He moved over to stand next to the Mountie. Fraser didn’t react to his presence. “What?”
Ben didn’t answer immediately. “Not . . . not case related . . . just . . .”
“I know. Certain things don’t really get easier.”
Fraser seemed to pull himself from some far away place. “Right,” he acknowledged.
The two men headed inside, leaving Esther to stay and oversee the crime scene photos and the removal of the body.
Mr. Kulicki was waiting at the lobby door. He held a set of keys in his hand.
“Thanks, Mr. Kulicki. I think we should take a look at the roof first. I assume there is access to the roof for the tenants.”
“Yes, they like to use it — in the summer, of course. But it is unlocked from the inside year round, in case of emergency.”
“Yeah, let’s start there then.”
The roof told a simple story. One set of prints. No sign of struggle. It looked, in fact, like she had stood at the edge looking down for some time before simply jumping off. That was how Fraser read the prints. They were still quite clearly visible, though slowly being filled in by falling snow.
Nothing Ray saw contradicted what Fraser read in the snow.
Imagining all too clearly those last moments of the young woman’s life, Ray left the scene behind. Fraser remained for several seconds before turning away.
They went down to Apartment 3D.
Ray led the way, after being let in by the helpful super. In fact, Fraser seemed to hang back as Ray began exploring the sparsely furnished apartment.
Kulicki handed the key to Fraser. “I’ll be in my apartment if you need anything. 1G. In the back.”
“Thank you, Mr. Kulicki. We’ll let you know when we’re done.” The super left. Fraser stood just inside the door. He made no move to come in further.
There wasn’t much to distinguish this place from thousands of other low rent places. It wasn’t quite so rundown a neighborhood or building as the one Fraser inhabited, but it wasn’t cheery either.
Ray saw little to give them further insight as to what had taken place on that rooftop, or more to the point, why this woman had seemingly taken her own life.
Ray found what proved to be her purse on top of a bookcase. Now they had her first name. She was Christine Allinette, thirty four, accountant. There was no evidence of drugs or drug paraphernalia. No sign of liquor, not even wine, in the apartment.
“Ray.” Fraser had eventually taken a few steps into the apartment. He seemed loathe to interfere with Ray’s investigation. As if, for once, particularly aware of his lack of jurisdiction.
“The bookcase.”
“Yeah, Benny.” Ray saw nothing unusual.
“The books, Ray.”
Ray looked down at the three low shelves. They contained all children’s books.
“Oh.” Ray’s shoulders sagged a little bit more. There was a kid involved in this somehow, somewhere.
He continued his search for clues or insights. He found both in a dresser drawer. There were photos. Hundreds of loose photos in careful stacks and several albums. Almost all of them were of a happy family and earlier ones showed a younger couple at various stages of their courtship, wedding and marriage. None showed the child any older than about seven.
The next drawer held the papers that told the story of the past.
Ray was really hating this case.
It was then, Fraser found the letter. He stood looking down at it as though it were some creature that would devour him whole. He had slowly made his way into the small, bare place that had, until so short a time ago, held a life. The life of this woman who had somehow lost hope and let go.
He sat at the small kitchen table, not too unlike his own. He sat and stared at the envelope and the neatly written words. “If you find this… read it and try to understand.”
He sat there watching the thing as Ray explored the photos and the papers that filled dresser drawers. Fraser swallowed.
“Ray.”
“Yeah, Benny?”
“I found the note.”
“Ahh.” Ray stood up from where he had been kneeling at the bottom drawer. He walked over to where Fraser sat.
“I found it, Ray.”
Ray read the same words Fraser had been reading, had read several times over already.
“I should be the one to read it. She asked whoever found it.”
“I see.”
“But I have no jurisdiction . . .”
“That’s not important, but you don’t have to . . .”
“Do you think it mattered to her — that it be whoever found it? Or just . . .”
“If you’re up to reading it, Benny, it’s okay with me. We both know what’s going to be inside.”
“Not to a certainty.”
“I found the death certificates, burial plot and headstone receipts.”
“Oh. Her family?”
“Husband and child.”
“Both of them?”
“Both of them. There are a few newspaper clippings. Drunk driver. Found guilty of vehicular manslaughter. She wasn’t in the car.” Ray sat at the other side of the table in the one other chair. “You going to read it . . . or you want me?”
“I can do it.”
Still it was many more seconds before he reached out for the envelope. He pulled it toward him, sliding it across the table top, then lifted it with his thumb at the bottom edge and his middle finger at the top. He turned it over, lifted the flap and slipped the paper from inside.
It read:
“Whoever you are, you don’t know me. You will never know if what I did was the right thing or the wrong thing. You may feel sorry for me or condemn me, but please understand that I just couldn’t bear another day.
Maybe you would have been stronger in my place, but I am me, alone, facing
things I could no longer face.
I wanted it to be clear that no one else had a hand in my death.
And I want my will to be executed as instructed. If the law allows, would you see to that. I know it is a lot to ask of a stranger, but you are probably a law officer and it shouldn’t be such an onerous job. I have a very simple will.
The deaths of my husband and child left me with a considerable amount of insurance money that I could never have touched. It is in trust for my niece and nephew. The will simply stipulates the details of that trust beyond my death.
If you want to pass this on to someone else I understand, but I would appreciate that it be another member of law enforcement.
Death for me is welcome. Life has been empty except for pain for so long. Not one day more.
I want to be a wife and mother again.”
Christine Allinette
Ben handed the note to Ray. The two men sat in silence as Ray read, and then for some minutes more.
Eventually, Ray broke the silence.
“She lived with her siste’s family in Connecticut for the first few months after the accident. Then she left and just kept moving. There are dozens of letters from the sister, most forwarded at least once or twice, she was begging her to come back.”
“She wasn’t alone. She just felt alone.”
“Yeah, I guess so.”
They sat for some time more.
“I don’t know, Benny. I don’t know. Who knows what we’d do after that kind of loss.”
“Hmm.”
Ray thought his friend was taking this a lot harder than he was trying to let on. That slight quiver in his jaw was a dead giveaway. “You going to try being the executor on that will?”
“Assuming my Canadian citizenship in no way interferes with my legal standing in such a capacity.”
Ray noted the shift to formality and verbiage. A Fraser defensive action. When threatened throw words. “That’s a yes?”
“Yes, Ray.”
“Then I guess we’re wrapped here.”
“Hmm.”
It was an agreeing ‘hmm,’ but Ray thought that was the other defense of choice — silence or monosyllables.
Ray got up and looked out the window down into the alley. It was empty now. Body, M.E., cops and crowd — all gone.
He took out his cell phone. “I’ll call Pearson’s office. Let ‘em know we got the note. Save someone a little extra work. C’mon.”
Ray headed for the door while hitting the buttons. He spoke into the phone as he walked out. “Yeah, hi. Rea, that you? Yeah. Ray Vecchio. Could you tell Pearson that the Allinette woman is a definite suicide. No suspicion of foul play. We got the note. The whole package. Yeah. The Happy Holidays. Ya got that right. Thanks. Merry Christmas to you, too.”
He was actually walking down the hallway when he realized that Fraser wasn’t with him. He doubled back before clicking off the call. “Benny? Benny?”
Ray stopped at the open door. There was his friend, still sitting at the table.
Ray slipped the phone into his pocket, walked into the apartment and pulled the door shut behind him. He walked back over to the table, studying Fraser as he went.
To look at him, you wouldn’t think anything was wrong. He was just sitting at a table. But the fact that he hadn’t gotten up and left was wrong. The fact that he didn’t acknowledge Ray’s calling his name was wrong. The fact that they had just had to deal with a woman probably their age or maybe younger who had just taken her own life was wrong, too.
Yeah, tis the season, all right.
Ray sat back down in the other chair.
“You wanna talk about it?”
“No, Ray.”
“You wanna go?”
“No.”
“You wanna stay here?”
“No.”
“So, where does that leave us?”
For a long time it left them sitting in the quiet apartment. The only sounds those of the city from outside the window. Finally, Fraser spoke.
“It didn’t have to be like this.”
“No, it didn’t, Benny.”
“She had people. She had family.”
The thought really came home to Ray, And you don’t, I know.
“Yeah, she did, Benny.”
Ray continued studying his friend. “You wish you’d been here to stop her?”
“Yes.”
Progress. He’d gotten his first yes. “You can’t . . .”
” . . . save everyone. I know, Ray.” Fraser sat. He felt this woman. He felt for her. He felt he knew her. She overran him. Her loneliness, her hopelessness, touched something deep and inexpressibly sad in his soul. “She felt so alone. She felt… disconnected.”
“Yeah. I imagine she did. She was there, but she couldn’t touch the people around her.”
“That’s it.” Recognition. “Grief can do that.”
“Yeah, it can, Benny.”
“It can separate you from everything and everyone.”
Oh, God, who are we talking about here?
He had to venture. He had to. “You feel that alone, Benny?”
“No . . .” The cheap, easy lie.
” . . . sometimes . . . ” Some small price and still not complete.
” . . . yes.” Costly. The truth.
“You feel that . . . isolated?”
He tried to say . . . something. He took the breath, then pushed the air past his larynx. Nothing came.
He tried again.
“I . . . don’t know . . .” Words came out slowly, taking a great deal of effort. “I’ve lived a life that’s isolated. It’s. . . it’s . . . a way of life, Ray. For many people.”
“Sounds lonely.”
“Loneliness isn’t about being around people…”
“I know. Lonely in a crowd, etc. Yeah, I get that. But what about you, when you’re around people?”
“I don’t know, Ray.” Ray noticed Fraser seem to gather his controls and close off access to the vulnerability he had let be glimpsed. “I’m sorry. We were talking about Christine Allinette, not about me.”
“You’re right.” Ray slapped the table, causing Fraser to startle. “And we should get out of here.” He stood up. “Okay? You ready to go now?”
The abrupt action wasn’t what Fraser expected. He certainly didn’t look ready to go. Not really, at all. Nevertheless he stood. He placed his Stetson back on his head. He was impervious now to inclement weather. Well, not really that either.
Once again, Ray headed to the door. This time he opened it and turned back, holding it, waiting for Fraser to pass through. Fraser took a few uncertain steps. He stopped and just stood there looking to Ray like a lost little boy.
Ray had never known anyone like this man before, nor anyone so alone in this world.
Once more, Ray closed the door. He took a few steps back toward his uncertain friend.
“You’re not, you know.”
“What?”
“Alone . . . like her.”
“Ray . . .”
“I know you lost a lot . . . you lost your family . . . but you’re not alone the way she was . . .”
Fraser tried to speak. No words came. He tried again. Again nothing would come out. His throat had closed so tightly he could barely draw breath through it. He stood feeling awkward and exposed. Ridiculous and in pain.
“You know, don’tcha? You got a family now. You know you belong like one of us. You can’t let yourself back away from that. ‘Cause that would be the cowardly thing to do. And . . .” Ray let out a breath. “you’re no coward, Benny.”
“Ray . . . I . . . Ray . . .” Too tight. His throat was just too tight.
“Now, I know we’re not exactly the kind of family you’re used to. A bit noisier… nosier, too, for that matter. But I think you fit in pretty good… fer an uptight, Canadian, tightass, Mountie type, that is.”
“Well, you don’t have to get insulting.” His voice was wavering and coarse, but it was there.
“Course I do, Benny. It’s the only way to get your attention. You don’t listen to me unless I insult you. It’s kinda like with a mule. Why’d I hit him over the head with that piece a wood?”
“First you had to get his attention.”
“That’s right, Now . . .” He had his hand on Fraser’s arm, pulling him out of the sad little apartment with its memories of love and pain and loss. Fraser let himself be guided out. “We gotta get us some dinner.”
The End
Note: Some readers didn’t find the underlying thread of hope in this story when I first posted it. So I’ll spell it out.
Sometimes, when you’re at your lowest, when you’re feeling alone and lost, and you think there is no one, you’re just not looking hard enough. Don’t give up. Keep and make connections. Who knows? There just may be a Benton Fraser (or a Ray or a Ray) right around the corner. It’s much better if you’re there to meet him when he arrives.
May your holidays — and everyday — be filled with the sharing of love and friendship. Best — Dilanne
Sometimes we are so busy drowning we miss the lifelines, the lifeboats and the people screaming for us to grab hold, and sometimes we don’t.