Morning is a Long Time Coming (5/8) by Bean Rated PG13. Language. Keywords: Bayliss. Pembleton. New character. Summary: The investigation continues. Rowan and Bayliss find common ground and grow closer. See part 1 for disclaimer. The song in this section is "One More Murder" by Kevin Griffin of Better than Ezra. I thought it was perfect for Homicide, and would actually be good to use during an episode... but no one asked me, so I just decided to use it in my story. :) Oh, and for you BTE fans out there, I know neither "How Does Your Garden Grow?" nor The X-Files Movie Soundtrack (the other CD this song is on) had been released at the time this story takes place, but please allow me a little poetic license. :) Since this story was written, the song was used in the show!! For those of you who saw the episode this season with the internet killer guy, then you know what I'm talking about. I was so psyched! ----------------- Morning is a Long Time Coming (5/8) Two hours after the initial interview of Alan Bryant, both he and Rowan Logan have been interviewed again, as well as Kevin Allison, who supported Rowan's alibi. It's been twelve hours since Rowan opened the door of her parents' bedroom and discovered someone's heinous crime, but Bayliss and Pembleton aren't much closer to finding that someone than they were when they got the call. Running John Patterson's name through the computer has yielded nothing, and according to Rowan, "He just isn't the type of person to do something like this. He's too sweet. And a Mustang? I honestly can't picture him driving a Mustang, though I admit I've never actually seen his car." A check with the DMV has revealed that a black 1996 Ford Mustang with the vanity plate "Mr. Clean" is registered to one Elisabeth Patterson, age sixty-five. The only problem with this fact is that no one can find any evidence that Elisabeth Patterson, age sixty-five, actually exists. Bayliss has even gone so far as to check with Social Security, but to no avail. "It could be an assumed name," he says in disgust to Pembleton. "A thirty year old man posing as a sixty-five year old woman? Why do I have trouble buying that, Bayliss?" he demands. He ignores this, lost in thought as he examines pictures of each crime scene. "This is kinda strange," he says, tossing both sets of pictures down on the desk in front of Pembleton and moving around to stand behind him. "Look at the pictures of Jack and Julia Logan's bedroom. There's blood all over the place." "Yeah, so?" "Well... at the other murder scene," he says, moving his finger from one picture to the other, "blood spatters are confined to the immediate area. There are no defense wounds on Jack and Julia Logan, yet their blood is everywhere." "Almost as if someone deliberately splashed it around," Pembleton says speculatively. Bayliss frowns, thinking. "This guy knew the house was empty except for Jack and Julia Logan, or at least we have to assume he did because he knew where to find Jeremy. But if he knew Jeremy was at Alan Bryant's..." he trails off. "Then it stands to reason he would also know it was more likely that Rowan would be back before Jeremy, and would discover their parents' bodies," his partner continues for him. "Then maybe he splashed blood around to put on a show for her. Maybe, in some perverse way, he was trying to impress her by doing such a brutal job of killing her parents." "So wouldn't he do the same thing when killing her brother?" "Maybe killing Jeremy wasn't something he planned on. Maybe he knew what went on in that house, and decided to 'free' Rowan from it or something... but then in some sort of bloodlust, decided 'What the hell? Might as well go four for four!'" Pembleton nods slowly. "Ya know something, Bayliss? That actually makes some sort of sense! But... it just leads us back to where we were before that vast brain-hurricane. We already figured it was someone who knew the Logans well, and this theory just reinforces that." Before Bayliss can reply to this, Giardello's voice breaks through the noise of the squad room. "Bayliss!" he hollers, and the detective pales. "Yeah, Gee?" he calls back, hurrying over to where his lieutenant is standing. "Where is Rowan Logan, Detective Bayliss?" the tall, dark man asks in a deceptively gentle tone of voice - the detectives working Al Giardello's shift have learned that this voice is much more dangerous than his yelling. "Uh... well... last time I saw her she was in the coffee room with Ballard," he says as quickly as he can. Gee nods quickly. "And how long have you been working this case?" he asks, never dropping the seemingly serene smile or cadence. Bayliss gulps, wondering what kind of trap Gee is leading him into and glances at the clock. "About... about twelve hours now, sir." "Mmhmm. And how is it going?" he says in a way that tells Bayliss he knows precisely how it's going - horribly. "Well, we have a possible lead... Jeremy Logan's roommate claims to have seen a black Mustang with the license plate-" "I don't want to hear it, Bayliss!" Gee roars, interrupting his detective and turning as dark and fearsome as a storm cloud. "What I want you to do is go home, and take Rowan Logan with you. She's exhausted and your investigation is going nowhere for the time being. The next shift can work where you left off, and tomorrow you can look at everything with fresh eyes. You will be called if anything changes. Now don't bother me again!" "But, sir, I'm the primary and I know the case better than anyone!" he protests weakly, knowing he could say just about anything and it wouldn't do any good. "I'll see you in the morning, Tim," Gee says, pulling his coat off the rack and walking quietly from the squad room. "But it's a God damn red ball!" Bayliss hollers after him, only daring so because he knows Gee can't hear him. With a sigh and a shake of his head, he gathers his coat and Rowan's and goes searching for her in the break room. "Hey, Bayliss," Ballard greets him. "I heard Gee yelling at you. What's up?" "He told me to go home," he says angrily, collapsing into one of the plastic chairs. Rowan's eyes widen slightly. "You aren't in some sort of trouble, are you? I knew breaking all those rules would come back to haunt you!" Bayliss is preparing a retort when he looks up at her, sees that little half smile and realizes she's only teasing. "No, I'm not in trouble, he just wants me to take you home... and I obviously can't leave you there alone, so I've been ordered to get some sleep and come back tomorrow." He tosses Rowan her coat. "I wanna stop by the Waterfront to get a drink first, ok?" "Yeah, that's fine. I think Kevin said something about going there to get our stuff... I'd like to talk to him... he might still be there." He nods to this. "Ok. So I'll see ya later, Ballard," he says to the other detective as he rises from the chair and wraps up in his heavy trench coat. "Bye, Bayliss... it was nice talking to you, Rowan." The girl smiles. "You too, Laura. Goodnight," she says brightly, sliding into leather jacket. Bayliss rests his hand on the small of her back, gently leading her through the noisy, crowded squad room, down the stairs and out onto the street. She takes a deep breath of cold air and shivers. "I'll never get used to winters in Maryland, I swear!" He smiles and opens the Waterfront door, allowing her to enter ahead of him. "It must be a lot different from... where'd you say? Georgia?" "Yep, Athens. And 'different' isn't the word for it... Maryland is like a completely different planet. I mean... the weather, the people, the local claim-to-fame." Bayliss frowns, having no idea what she's talking about with the last one, and she elaborates with a smile. "Athens is known for just about two thing only: R.E.M. and UGA. Ya know, R.E.M. the band... they're from Athens; they all went to the University of Georgia together. But in Baltimore, you got the Os, Babe Ruth, Edgar Allan Poe, crab cakes, Federal Hill... well, I don't have to explain it all to you." "Rowan!" a voice calls as they enter the bar, and her head snaps up, her eyes suddenly wary as she scans the room. Her face softens into a smile as she catches sight of her best friend, Kevin Allison, who has been sitting at the bar waiting for her. "Kevin! You're still here?" "I had to make sure you're ok, Ro. When he told me what happened," Kevin says with a nod to Bayliss, "I was completely freaked. I figured you might be over here before the day was out, so... here I am." The friends embrace, and Bayliss moves to the bar, not wanting to intrude. "I'm ok, Kev, honestly. The detectives have been really great, surprisingly. They think this guy might be after me, and so I'm staying with Detective Bayliss until they catch him." Kevin's intense blue eyes study her pretty face for a long time before he nods, apparently satisfied, and they join Bayliss at the bar. "Ya know what would help make you feel better?" He pauses for an instant, as if waiting for an answer, before continuing. "Singing. You always say that when you sing, you forget your problems. At least... I think I've heard you say that before..." he says with a grin. Rowan smiles sadly. "I don't think so, Kev. I can't think of any songs happy enough right now." Bayliss looks up from his drink. "No, Rowan, I think it's a good idea. Sometimes sad songs work just as well as happy ones - I always cheer right up when I hear 'Everybody Hurts' by R.E.M.," he says. "I don't know the lyrics to that one," she tells him, the sadness in her smile evaporating somewhat. Kevin grabs her hand and begins tugging her toward the stage. "Come on, Ro!" She manages a laugh and allows herself to be dragged to the back of the bar. "Alright, alright, I'll sing! But you may not be happy with my choice of song." She moves to the microphone and clicks it on. "Hey, y'all," she says as everyone begins to quiet down. "This is a little impromptu performance, and it'll only be one song, but some very influential people have convinced me that singing is good for the soul, so here's a little ditty I like to call 'One More Murder.' I didn't write this one; it's by Better than Ezra and can be found on their album 'How Does Your Garden Grow?'." Kevin frowns, very familiar with the angry, hopeless tone of the song. Oh well... she did warn him that he wouldn't be happy with her choice. He selects an electric guitar from the ones assembled on the stage and flips on the amp. The song begins with a long introduction, setting the tone the way an overture does in an opera or musical. The audience shifts in their seats, a bit uncomfortable at the dark images the music conjures up, but Rowan knows they haven't heard anything yet - the true soul of the song is in the lyrics. "One more murder in this town," she begins, her fierce voice sending shivers down Tim's spine. "Don't mean a thing, Just lock your doors and drive around. One more murder in this town. Don't worry, the rain will wash the chalk marks from the ground." The tone of the song abruptly changes, going from slow, purposeful and intense to faster, more alive, but still dark and angry. "Saturday night, shots ring out, Add one to the body count. You come alive to see another's end. Plead it to a lesser count; DA says without a doubt in 3 to 5 you're on the streets again." Bayliss almost chuckles to himself, wondering how this girl can come up with such completely appropriate songs. The other told the story of the personal life of a homicide detective: this delves into the job itself. "One more murder in this town. Don't mean a thing, You get accustomed to the sound. One more murder in this town. Block off the street and wrap the crime scene tape around." "Hosanna! Hosanna! I can't feel nothing at all! Hosanna! Hosanna! I can't feel a thing! I can't feel a thing at all!" Rowan's voice becomes desperate, and it's obvious the words are to convince herself much more than the audience. But just as suddenly, the song changes back to its original vision. They are all stunned by this strangely lyrical, oddly beautiful, completely painful song. "Saturday night you're going out. Parking lot, a figure come about. Feel a piece click against your head. Pleading to his sympathy: 'Take the car, I got a family.' You hear a laugh: 'It don't mean shit to me!' One more... one more... one more... one more murder in this town." This last line is said with the finality born from the acceptance of one's fate: *"This is the way things work,"* it says, *"and sometimes there just isn't a damn thing you can do about it."* The song ends with one last guitar riff and Rowan stands before the microphone looking as though she's forgotten about the audience and has retreated to some place inside herself, the place that has learned all too quickly exactly what murder is about. With a look around the bar like that of a deer trapped in headlights, she suddenly bolts from the stage and out the door, Bayliss hot on her heels, but Kevin realizing she just needs some time alone. Finally catching up with her, Bayliss grabs Rowan's arm and pulls her to him fiercely, sharing the pain she feels and echoing it with pain of his own. "You can't let this destroy you, Rowan. Please don't let this destroy you," he whispers, fingers twined through her long, dark hair. She pushes herself away from his chest and looks up at him, her dark eyes troubled and angry. "What am I to do then, Tim? Where am I to put my pain? Where am I to put my anger and my hatred? Not just for this murderer, but for my father! I hated him, I wished him dead a thousand times and now he is. How am I to cope with that?" "This isn't your fault! *He* was wrong, Rowan, not you. Listen to me. Trust me. I know what you're feeling because I've felt it myself. I've asked these same questions and I've dealt with this same guilt." She takes a step away, breaking the connection of his hands in her hair. "How can you? You've seen death, yes, but how can what you've *seen* compare to what I've *been* *through*?" Tim's face suddenly contorts in pain and shame and anger, and in that moment Rowan knows. In that moment, she sees the demons he lives with come to life within him and her heart constricts. "Oh, God..." she whispers, horrified at what his eyes are telling her. "Oh, God, I'm so sorry..." She understands better than anyone that these words are completely inadequate and can no way heal the wounds in his soul, but they are all she has. And she must know the rest. "Who?" she asks softly, timidly. He bows his head, unwilling to look into her all-knowing eyes as he makes his confession. "My uncle," he whispers, "when I was a little boy. I hated him, Rowan; I *despised* him." He pauses for a moment, wondering where to go with this. "One day, a while back, Frank and I caught this case, and it reminded me of... of... everything... so I went to see him..." He trails off, unwilling to continue. Her eyes widen. "What did you do, Tim?" she insists gently. "I... he was so old and frail, so sick. I looked at this weak old man and I... I knew I couldn't hate him as I always had. He was broken and he was dead in all forms but body." He shakes his head slightly as if to knock away the ghostly cobwebs of memory. "So you see, Rowan, I *do* know you. You feel you can't hate your father because he's been murdered; I feel I can't hate my uncle because he's dying. So what do we do?" Rowan stands there on that cold, dark street just watching him, and he still won't look at her, still won't meet her eyes. She reaches a tentative hand across the black chasm of night that separates them and touches his fingers in a gentle caress, fingers sliding against fingers, around fingers, through fingers... their palms meet and she squeezes his hand in reassurance. "We're alright, Tim," she whispers softly, her breath billowing in a warm, gentle cloud between them. "We're alright." His green eyes come up, meet her dark ones, and pull her toward him. The hand not holding hers finds its way to her cheek and rests there as their lips move closer and closer to touching. But at the last moment, a flash of fear fills Rowan and she turns away abruptly, releasing his hand and taking a few steps down the sidewalk, putting more distance between them. "I'm sorry," he says after a long, awkward moment. "That was inappropriate." She takes a deep, steadying breath and turns to face him again. "No... it was my fault. I shouldn't have... I mean, I..." Rowan shakes her head, realizing that she can't hope to explain how badly she wanted - no, *wants* - to kiss him, but also how frightened she is of what kissing him might mean. "I'm sorry, Tim, I'm just tired." Bayliss frowns, angry with himself. "Of course you are, Rowan. Gee tells me to take you home so you could get some rest, and I drag you to the Waterfront. Why don't we go now? You can call Kevin from there to explain." She nods. "Alright... but... I need to go home, to get some things..." Her face pales at the prospect of entering that house again, but she knows she has to. "Of course," he says gently, gesturing for her to follow him back to the station house so he can retrieve his car. "Are you hungry? We could order some Chinese and watch cartoons. Cartoons are better for the soul than singing any day," he tells her with a charming smile she can't help but return. End part 5/8