Morning is a Long Time Coming (7/8) by Bean Rated PG13 Keywords: Bayliss. Pembleton. New character(s). Summary: Bayliss and Pembleton have caught the killer... haven't they? Disclaimer in part 1. Even I'm beginning to feel sorry for Rowan at this point. :) Hey, here's an idea... why don't y'all tell me what YOU think?? :) --------------- Morning is a Long Time Coming (7/8) As they pull up in front of Kevin Allison's building, Rowan hands Bayliss the key to his apartment. "I'm not going up there," she tells him. "Why not?" he asks with a frown. "I'm sick of discovering the blood-covered bodies of people I love. You go on up, and come down to get me if he's still breathing. Otherwise I'm not moving." Bayliss lets out a sigh. "You can't stay here, Rowan. If Kevin has been murdered, then it's possible the killer is still around. I can't risk you getting hurt. How about I just go in ahead of you, and you can wait in the hall?" She frowns. "Well... I guess. But if there's blood, I'm not going in." He shakes his head and practically drags her up the building's front steps. In a moment they are standing in front of Kevin's apartment, and Rowan knocks hesitantly. "Um... hey, Kevin? You hung up so suddenly that I was a little worried..." she calls. There is no answer, and she looks at Bayliss grimly. "He never kept his door locked. Try it before using the key." Pulling a stray pair of latex gloves out of his pocket, the detective slips them on and carefully tries the knob. It turns easily in his hand, and Rowan is reminded of the scene at Jeremy's rowhouse. Easing the door open, Bayliss peeks inside and sees nothing but a normal apartment - slightly messy, but in a homey sort of way. "Come on, Rowan, no blood yet. What phone might he've been using?" "The one in his bedroom maybe," she offers, her voice shaky, and points to the door. Bayliss nods and moves to open it. He glances over his shoulder at Rowan and enters the room without a word. Her face pales further and she collapses onto the couch. "This has been one *shitty* day," she whispers. She sits there, her eyes roving about the room, seeing not objects, but memories. Kevin, Ethan and James attempting to bake her a cake for her eighteenth birthday - there had been icing, flour and eggs all over the kitchen and everything else within a twenty-foot radius. Kevin's favorite guitar leans against the wall, and the melodies of a hundred songs seem to drift from it, combining to form a sad, strange tune that fills Rowan's heart to the point of bursting. Then there's the CD player, the one she bought him for Christmas a year ago. Her eyes trace the colorful and diverse CD collection - Del Amitri, Toad the Wet Sprocket, Pink Floyd, Garbage, Genesis, The Police, AC/DC, Nirvana, 10, 000 Maniacs, U2 - the names flash before her and she suddenly feels dizzy, but can't look away. There's Better than Ezra - "Deluxe" and "Friction, Baby" - so where's "How Does Your Garden Grow?"? Her brow creases in confusion, and she crosses over to the shelf of CDs. The box sits on the counter before the player, open, the CD not inside. Pulling her shirt (*Bayliss' shirt,* she corrects herself) down over her hand so as not to smudge any possible finger prints, she hits Play. "Bayliss!" she cries as the song begins. "Bayliss, get in here!" He comes running from the bedroom and frowns at the sound of the music. "What is it, Rowan?" he demands. "Just listen," she whispers, her eyes wide and dark against her ashen skin. He frowns. "That sounds like the song you were singing at the Waterfront tonight." She nods slowly. "You didn't touch the player, did you?" "Of course I did. How do you think it started playing? But don't worry, I didn't get my fingerprints on it." "The phone in the bedroom was pulled from the wall, but this one looks ok," he says, pointing across the room. "What I don't understand was why Kevin didn't say anything when some stranger came into his room and ripped the phone out!" Rowan doesn't reply, so Bayliss uses the undamaged phone to call the murder in. "The lab guys will need to get prints from the player, the jewel case and the CD, as well as the phone in the bedroom..." he says, making notes on the pad as he talks. "Is it like the others?" Rowan questions softly. He glances up at her and wishes he didn't have to answer her question. "Yeah, it is. You say Kevin never locked his door?" Rowan nods. "Yeah. He would always forget, and I was constantly warning that it would get him into trouble one day. Stupid idiot; he never did listen to me." Bayliss' brow creases in sympathy for her. "You really loved him, didn't you?" "Yeah," she whispers, her voice tight with barely-restrained tears. "He was always there for me, always willing to listen... I ran to him when dad went on one of his rampages, and he was the only one I told about... about that night..." She shakes her head slowly. "I mean, I told Jeremy later, when he was older, but Kevin was... Kevin was special. He took care of me when no one else could." "I'm sorry, Rowan," he tells her. "I wish there was something I could do." "There is, Tim: you can catch this guy. That's the only thing that can make this even close to alright." He puts a reassuring hand on her shoulder. "I will. I guarantee I will." Just then the door opens suddenly, surprising them both. Frank Pembleton stands in the doorway looking angry and tired. "Geez, Frank, that was quick," Bayliss says. "Yeah, well, I was sitting up by the phone. When Gee told me what happened I came straight here. The lab techs are right behind me." "The body's back here in the bedroom. Why don't you go take a look and I'll stay out here to wait for the lab?" Pembleton nods. "No problem." He smiles at Rowan as he passes her, pulls on a pair of gloves, and goes off to examine the body. Bayliss wanders back to the CD player and hits Eject. The drawer slides out and an orange CD with the words "Ezra" and "Garden" embossed in silver appears. Painted, or so it seems, on top of this is a large, blood-red eye. Bayliss frowns. "Hey, Rowan?" he calls. "This eye thing... that doesn't look like it's meant to be there." "Eye?" she questions, coming over to peer at the CD. "No, that's definitely not on the copy of this I have. The color looks kinda familiar..." She leans close and inhales deeply. "Yeah, smells like berries... I wear this nail polish at shows. It's called... um... Love in Vein, v-e-i-n. Like blood." She shudders. "It's like... it's like someone's been watching me," she whispers softly. ----------- He nods, but before he can say anything, the room is suddenly filled with busy, short-tempered lab technicians. Rowan doesn't know where to go to get out of the way, and she finally finds herself in the hall by the elevators. It's one of the few quiet places in the whole building, it seems, and she sighs in relief. *I've been around so many murder scenes in the last few hours I might as well be a homicide detective myself,* she thinks, watching the hustle and bustle from a safe distance. The elevator doors suddenly open with a whoosh, and Rowan jumps back. "Rowan," Giardello says upon noticing her, "you haven't seen any of my detectives around here by any chance?" A smile fleets across her features. "Just follow the crowd, Mr. Giardello." He nods and follows her advice. The small apartment is, as Rowan said, very crowded, but luckily Bayliss and Pembleton aren't too hard to find. "Gee, what's up?" Frank asks, coming over to join his lieutenant at the door. "We got an address on your cleaning guy, gentlemen," he tells his detectives, "and I was thinking you might want to head over there to talk to him." He pulls out a white piece of paper and passes it over to Bayliss. "Or maybe just tear up his house a little," Gee says with a smile. "A warrant? How did you get this? All we had was Alan Bryant's 'Mr. Clean' sighting!" He smiles ambiguously. "All it took was the right judge and a little... persuading." Bayliss laughs. "Have I told you lately how much I love you, Gee?" he asks. "No, and I don't want to hear it. Go on and get John Patterson; I'll take Rowan back to the station." A few moments later, Bayliss, Pembleton and Gee rush past her. "Hey, what's going on?" she demands. "We found John Patterson," Bayliss explains quickly. "We're gonna go pick him up now and Gee's gonna take you back to the station, ok?" The subject is obviously not open for debate, so Rowan just nods and is swept off into a Cavalier. Bayliss, Pembleton, Lewis and Falsone strap on bullet proof vests in preparation for the raid on John Patterson's run-down rowhouse. Bayliss can feel in his gut that this is it: they are on the verge of putting this case down. "Lewis, you and Falsone go around back; Frank and I'll take the front. Take three uniforms with you and yell if there's any trouble," he instructs for the hundredth time. "Yeah, Timmy, we know. Relax, bunk," Meldrick tells him as they tumble out of the car. "I am relaxed. Try not to kill anyone." "Yeah, you too!" Falsone calls as he, his partner and a group of uniforms cut through the alley to the back of the house. Frank and Bayliss climb the front steps and bang on the door. "Flowers," Pembleton calls. Naturally there's no answer. "Hey, police, open up!" There's still nothing, so Bayliss motions for the uniforms to cover him and kicks down the door with a crash. "Baltimore police!" he cries, gun drawn. The foyer is empty, and the group splits up to search various rooms. Bayliss is in the kitchen opening the back door and calling to Lewis when he hears Frank yelling his name. "Hey, Bayliss, get up here and look at this!" He hurries up the stairs, following the sound of his partner's voice, and his jaw hits the floor when he nudges open the door to John Patterson's bedroom. Pembleton and a uniform stand there amidst hundreds and hundreds of pictures and articles all about the Logan family. There are photographs of both family and friends, obviously taken by Patterson himself, articles from the "Sun", political flyers, blueprints of their house, a family tree... all centered around a poster-sized photograph of a smiling, beautiful Rowan Logan. There is a man sitting huddled on the bed, a large man, but one so scared that he seems very small and very child-like. "Are you John Patterson?" Bayliss demands of him. The man peeks up at the tall homicide detective and nods. "Who are you?" he asks timidly. "I'm a cop. You didn't hear us banging on your door?" Patterson shakes his head rapidly, almost like a dog flinging off water after a bath. "No, no, oh no... I was listening to my music. Yes, here, see?" He holds up a set of earphones. "My music... Beethoven today. I love Beethoven. Do you like Beethoven, Mr. Poh-leece?" "Detective Bayliss, Detective Pembleton, look at this!" a uniform calls from the hall. The detectives stick their heads out the door and are rewarded with the sight of a straight-edged knife covered in dried blood. "This must be my lucky day!" Bayliss says in delight. "Is this your knife, Mr. Patterson?" The man looks up at the knife and shudders. "Dear me... yes, yes, I think so. My knife... yes, my knife. There is blood on my knife, Mr. Poh-leece. Why did you get blood on my knife?" Bayliss rolls his eyes and pulls his handcuffs out. "Stand up, Mr. Patterson." He does, and Bayliss snaps the cuffs onto his wrists. "You're under the arrest for the murders of Jack, Julia and Jeremy Logan, as well as Kevin Allison. You have the right to remain silent..." -------- Back at the station, Rowan paces around the coffee room, worried. Can John Patterson really be guilty of murdering her family and best friend? He is big, true - nearly seven feet, she's sure - but he always seemed so gentle and innocent... like the Big Friendly Giant from that Roald Dahl book. She shakes her head, wondering why she's trying to make sense out of any of this: nothing makes sense anymore, and the sooner she just accepts that fact, the better off she'll be. "We got him." It's Bayliss, returned from arresting John Patterson. "His bedroom was covered in stuff about your family and friends, Rowan. He was obviously obsessed with you. And we found the murder weapon in his laundry room. He's in the Box now... I don't think we'll have much trouble getting a confession out of him." "It just doesn't feel right, Bayliss. I can't explain why, but some part of me is just saying that all of this is too easy, it fits a little *too* well." "The evidence doesn't lie. Right now the lab is matching prints taken from the CD player in Kevin Allison's apartment and from the hilt of the knife to John Patterson's. They'll come back a match and, at that point, we won't even really need a confession." She nods slowly. "You're right, of course you're right. I'm just really tired and I'm not thinking clearly." "How about I get someone to take you back to my place so you can get some sleep?" he asks. "Yeah... that would be great, actually. How long do you think you'll be here?" He shrugs. "I don't know, a few hours... not too long. I'll go find a uniform, ok?" She nods and he leaves to return a few moments later, a startled looking cop in tow. "Walk her to the door, understand? I don't want to take any chances." Once they're gone, Bayliss returns to the observation room with Pembleton and Giardello. "He's not asleep," Frank says in reference to one of the sure signs of a guilty man: he falls asleep in the Box. "He looks as scared as he did when we found him." "Be careful with this guy, Bayliss. There's something just not quite right about this and I don't want it to come back and bite us in the ass," Gee tells him. "Why does everyone keep saying that? This is obviously our guy, Gee. You didn't see that bedroom!" Pembleton is leafing through the ME's report for the three Logan murders. "Is John Patterson left handed?" he asks. "It says our guy was most likely left handed." Bayliss shrugs. "Let's just go talk to him, Frank. It may not matter what hand he writes with." John Patterson looks up, startled, as the two detectives enter the Box. "Oh, Mr. Poh-leeces, is something wrong? Why did you take my pictures? This room is yellow. I hate yellow. Do you have any blue? I like blue rooms much better. Yes, yes, blue would be better than yellow." Frank and Tim share a glance. "We just want to ask you a few questions about the Logans, Mr. Patterson. Why did you have all those pictures of them hanging in your room?" Bayliss asks gently. "I... oh... yes, my pictures... It's Rowan, you see? She's always very nice to me... oh yes, very nice... she always says, 'Hello, John, how are you today?' whenever I see her, and then I say, 'I'm doing very well, thank you,' and then she says, 'I'm glad. See you next Tuesday.' Yes, yes... always, 'See you next Tuesday.' I like Rowan very much. She's my friend." "Uh-huh. So what about her family? Did you like Rowan Logan's family too?" Pembleton demands. "Mrs. Logan and Jeremy... but not Mr. Logan. Oh no, Mr. Logan is very grumpy... he yells at me for vacuuming too loud or, or singing... I like to sing. I love my music, yes I do." "Did Mr. Logan ever yell at Rowan or Jeremy or Mrs. Logan?" The man nods emphatically. "Oh, oh yes! He yells lots and lots... especially at Rowan when she wants to see her friends or talk on the, on the telephone." "That probably made you angry, didn't it? I know it would've pissed me the hell off, someone yelling at my friend like that - even if he was her father," Pembleton says conversationally. "Angry? Mmhmm, yes angry... but Rowan tells me that everything is ok. Yes, she always says, 'I'm ok, Johnny... see you next Tuesday.'" "Do you believe her when she tells you that, John?" Bayliss wants to know, his tone still deceptively gentle and understanding. "Believe Rowan? Always! Rowan would never lie, or say mean things, or yell at me. No, no, Rowan isn't like Mr. Logan." There is a pause. "No, Rowan isn't like Jake. Jake is like Mr. Logan." Tim's brow creases in confusion. "Who's Jake, Mr. Patterson?" Patterson's eyes become as round as saucers and he slumps over in his chair. "Jake... oh dear, Jake... Jake is mean. Jake is like Mr. Logan. No, no, Rowan is not like Jake. Jake would even be mean to *you,* Mr. Poh-leeces! Jake is mean and yelly to everybody! No, oh no, no, no, no, Rowan is not like Jake!" He is very agitated now, and Bayliss leans over the table toward him. "It's ok, Mr. Patterson. We don't think Rowan is like Jake. What we want to know is, if you love Rowan so much, why did you kill her family? Why did you kill Mr. and Mrs. Logan and Jeremy? Why did you kill Kevin Allison, her best friend? We have your knife, Mr. Patterson," he says intently, his eyes boring into the frightened man. "Kill Rowan's family? No! Oh no, no, no! *Jake* would. Jake *would*. Yes, yes, Jake would... but not me. I love Rowan. I love her, love her, love her! Jake hates her. Yes, yes, he hates Rowan because she's so pretty. He doesn't like pretty things... except, except he likes looking at Rowan... he's always *watching* Rowan, her band... but I tell him not to. Jake never listens to me," he says mournfully. "Who is *Jake,* Mr. Patterson?" Pembleton demands angrily. The man rolls up into a ball - an amazing sight due to his large size versus the diminutive chair he is in - and begins babbling something about Jake and how mean and "yelly" he is. "But who *is* he?" Bayliss cries, smashing his fist into the table to get John Patterson's attention. There's suddenly a knock on the window, and Giardello is standing outside motioning for them to join him in the squad room. "Cut him loose," he tells his detectives, his voice leaving no room for argument. But of course Bayliss has to try. "Cut him loose? Gee, what are you talking about?" he demands, flabbergasted. Gee thrusts a lab report into his hands. "They aren't his prints, he's not our man, cut him loose! Any more questions?!" "What?!" Pembleton cries. "Are you serious? The knife was found in his house! Do the blood types match?" Bayliss nods hastily, his eyes scanning the report. "Yeah, the blood on the knife was Kevin Allison's... but the prints didn't produce a match." He pauses, his mind whirling with possibilities. *Jake hates Rowan,* Patterson's voice whispers in his mind, *He's always *watching* Rowan, her band...*. And then, *It's like someone's been watching me,* he hears Rowan say. Eyes wild, he throws open the door of the Box, grabs John Patterson by the scruff of the neck, thrusts him against the wall and demands, "If you love Rowan like you say you do, then tell me who Jake is! Tell me, John!" The big man is in hysterics and tears pour down his cheeks. "Let me go! Let me go, Mr. Poh-leece! Oh, oh, oh, Jake is my brother! Oh yes, he's my twin brother..." "Your twin?" Bayliss cries, dropping Patterson to the floor. "Your identical twin, John? He looks just like you?" he asks, towering over the cringing man. "Yes! Yes, yes! Jake is my ident'cal twin! Please, Mr. Poh-leece, please don't hurt me!" "I'm not gonna hurt you, John... I don't have time." Without a word to Giardello or Pembleton, Bayliss rushes from the station on his way to his apartment... and Rowan Logan. End part 7/8