Dead Ringer  STANDARD DISCLAIMER: All characters in this story, with the
exceptions of Allie Mitchell and Libby Walker, are the property of
Alliance Films and Paul Haggis. This story is written solely for the
enjoyment of the readers. No copyright infringements are intended, and we
promise to put Fraser, Vecchio, Kowalski, and company back on the shelf,
nice and neat, when we are done with them-unscathed, unmolested, basically
as they were before we "kidnapped" them. 

 (P.S.: Jody Andriano, if you are reading this, I apologize for the run-on
I used. Please find it in your heart to forgive me. -L.V.) 

 Dead Ringer By Amaroq Wolf and Black Magic Woman 

 Series: SHAKING UP THE PRECINCT 

 Allusions to "Victoria's Secret" and "Juliet Is Bleeding" Special
mention: "The Mexican Pet" by Jan Harold Brunvand, the major domo of urban
legends 

 WARNING: Rated PG for strong language. 


__________________________________________________________________________
____________________ 

 It was another typical day at the 27th precinct. The detectives--and
Mountie--were aghast with the recent crime streak going on. Lately, the
number of young women in Chicago had been taking a nosedive--in short,
someone was on a murderous rampage. The precinct was so disturbed by it
that, on the collective break, it was all that they could do to tune it
out. 

 Detective Ray Vecchio was trying to ignore the pining of his best
friend's wolf, Diefenbaker, for a piece of his cherry Danish. His sister
Francesca was getting her ear chewed off by Stanley Kowalski for
neglecting her duties in favor of her dreams about her brother's best
friend, Constable Benton Fraser, who was telling an Inuit tale to a deeply
immersed Jack Huey. 

 Ray smiled as he realized how much he had missed everything while going
undercover in the mob. The FBI had done its best to hurry the trial of
Armando Langostini--Ray's alter ego in the mob--but it still had seemed
like an eternity to him. He remembered Welsh telling him about the rescue
operation in Canada, where Stanley--the cop who had covered for him--and
his buddy Fraser had fallen down a mineshaft while searching for the
Northwest Passage. While waiting for the rescue team to get them out, the
two had had some weird dreams--Francesca had six immaculate conceptions in
one, Ray and Stella Kowalski--Stanley's ex-wife--had run off to Florida
together, and quite a few other doozies. Fortunately, they were rescued
and brought back to Chicago to recover before Ray came back. Ray was
shaken from his reverie by Dief's pleading. 

 Ray finally broke under Dief's whines and slipped him part of his Danish.
"You can't let Benny know I'm giving you this or he'll ruin another one of
my suits." 

 Dief was appeased. He let out with a single, low "Woof." 

 Stanley finally snapped and stalked over to Ray. "Man, I give up!" He was
beyond frustrated. "Your sister is impossible! All she gives a damn about
is drooling all over Fraser!" 

 Ray smiled, aware of Francesca's crush on his Canadian buddy. He just
played it in stride. "He doesn't even notice. I mean, he used Frannie's
keyboard once and she hasn't even cleaned it off since. It's like a shrine
to her!" 

 "You got that right." Stanley's terse response provoked a laugh from Ray,
distracting him from the fact that Fraser was coming up behind them. 

 "What are you two laughing about?" Fraser was very direct, getting to the
point. He was polite about it though, as he didn't swear at them. 

 "Nothing, why?" Stanley asked. 

 Fraser shrugged his broad shoulders. "Just curious." 

 Ray took this moment to break the ice. "Speaking of curiosity, fellas,
there's something that I've been wanting to ask you for a while." 

 Fraser nodded his head. "Yes, Ray?" 

 Stanley suddenly looked extremely nervous as he anticipated the question
that was about to pop. Ray was more than likely going to ask about his
green 1971 Buick Riviera, which at that moment was sitting in a charred
heap at the bottom of Lake Michigan, thanks to a serial arsonist--and
Fraser. 

 Ray confirmed Stanley's suspicion right off the bat. "What the hell
happened to my car?" 

 Stanley decided to face his impending disembowelment with dignity. "Uh, I
honked the horn." 

 Ray was unimpressed. "And?" 

 Fraser jumped in to save his partner from his hotheaded Italian friend.
"And it kind of caught fire." 

 "And?" 

 Stanley jumped in. "And we sort of had to drive it into Lake Michigan."
He was well aware of the veins throbbing on Ray's forehead. 

 Fraser jumped in as a last-ditch attempt to save Stanley. "And if you
want it back, you're going to have to dive pretty deep to get it back." 

 Ray turned away from the two, trying to digest what he had just heard.
Had Fraser managed to destroy his beloved Riv again? No, not again. Ray
slowly turned around and managed to get a good look at both of them. He
suddenly hauled off and belted Stanley in the face. The clamor of
Stanley's stunned body hitting the floor brought Lieutenant Harding Welsh
out of his office with the ferocity of a hurricane. 

 "What the hell is going on out here?" The lieutenant was livid. 

 Francesca spoke up. "My arrogant older brother decided that he needed to
punch someone, so he punched Kowalski." 

 "And what reason did you have for punching Kowalski?" Welsh asked. 

 "He just found out what happened to his car," said Francesca. 

 Welsh took a look at Stanley's unconscious frame. "Is he going to be
okay?" 

 Ray winced at the pain that had resulted from the blow he had delivered.
"I don't know about him, but my hand sure as hell hurts." 

 Welsh gave Ray a look that would have frozen the sun. "That didn't answer
my question." 

 Fraser jumped in, eager to save his friend. "It's my conclusion,
Leftenant, that the contusion that Vecchio delivered did not have any
permanent adverse effect on Kowalski." 

 "English, Constable?" 

 "He'll be okay." As if to confirm Fraser's words, Dief trotted over to
Stanley and began licking his face. The sensation of dog drool on the
cheek woke Stanley out of his semicoma. 

 Stanley was aghast. "Get off of me, you big mutt!" Dief ignored his
entreaties and continued to lick his face. "Damn it, Fraser, get your damn
dog off me!" 

 As Fraser tried to pry his wolf off of Stanley, the phone rang in Welsh's
office. Welsh stalked back into his office and picked up the phone.
"Hello!" 

 "Is this Lieutenant Harding Welsh?" the voice asked. 

 "Yes. Who is this?" 

 "This is Lieutenant O'Neill of the New York Police Department, Precinct
Twelve." 

 Welsh was taken by surprise. "How may I help you?" 

 O'Neill was brief. "About two weeks ago we discussed the possible
transfer of one of my own men to your precinct. I'm calling to confirm
that yes, it's a done deal." 

 Welsh sighed--it was the last thing he needed. "Who is it?" 

 "Her name is Allie Mitchell. She works in the Violent Crimes division.
She has been assigned to your precinct as of tomorrow morning. Expect her
then." 

 Although his mind was saying, "Damn" and other colorful metaphors, Welsh
kept his cool. "Okay. Thank you for informing me." 

 "Not a problem." O'Neill killed the connection. 

 Welsh hung up the phone and stared out into the bullpen. Stanley was
caught up in an attempt to hold a can of soda to his injury and ward off
Dief at the same time. Ray looked like a cat that had eaten a canary, and
Fraser loomed over them like a mother hen whose chicks had just hatched. 

 ----- 

 Later that night, Ray and Fraser had dinner in a cozy little Chinese
restaurant. Usually they ordered takeout, but Ray didn't want to have to
drive any more than he had to without relaxing. Sitting in a booth and
talking over green tea, chow mein, and fortune cookies was a good way to
relax after the hectic day's events. 

 "So did you hear about my sister?" Ray asked Fraser as he fumbled with
his chopsticks. 

 "What, did she find another Mountie to drool over?" Fraser jokingly
asked. 

 Ray nodded his head with a serious expression on his face. "Yeah,
Turnbull." 

 Fraser scrutinized the Italian detective for a minute, not sure as to
whether or not he should believe him. 

 Ray noticed the expression on Fraser's face. "Just kidding, Frase." He
took a bite of his Hunan chicken before speaking again. "What I was
getting at was ---okay. I never told you this, but Frannie has been
interested in joining the National Guard Military Police for a long time."


 Fraser looked at him incredulously. "Dose this have anything to do with
why she was absent from work for a week last month?" 

 "Yeah. She was off at Fort Jackson taking the physical fitness test for
her candidacy." 

 "So the results are in?" 

 Ray nodded. "She made it. Good thing too, because I'd hate to have to
hear the rumors flying around that she was spending that week with a pimp.
At least I have proof she wasn't." 

 "When is she leaving?" Fraser asked through a mouthful of fried rice. 

 "Day after tomorrow." Ray sighed. "We're throwing her a party tomorrow." 

 "That soon?" 

 Ray nodded, sensing the void that would soon exist in his close-knit
household. "I'm taking her to the airport the morning after the party." 

 "Is there going to be a replacement for her?" Fraser asked. 

 Ray shook his head. "I don't know. But we have a new body coming into
Violent Crimes." 

 "Good." Fraser chuckled. "He'll be at home with the rest of the bodies." 

 Ray laughed. "Wrong on both counts, Benny. One, he's a she. Two, she is
very much alive." 

 Fraser nodded. "Ah. Where is she from?" 

 "North side of Chicago." Ray took a bite of his sweet and sour pork and a
sip of his tea. "Precinct 211." 

 "What's she like?" 

 "Think Frannie, only a bit taller and a bit more like me." 

 Fraser reached for a fortune cookie. "This should be interesting." 

 Ray looked up. "What do you mean?" 

 "Well, I just think it's interesting that there's a female version of
you." 

 Ray turned a bit red. "Oh! So what you're saying is that you think it
might be...interesting that there might be a female me!" 

 Fraser broke his fortune cookie in half. "You could say that, Ray. 

 "I just did." 

 ----- 

 The next morning, Fraser and Stanley left the precinct at eight-thirty to
go to Francesca's farewell party. They got into Stanley's GTO and just
started to back out when they felt a sudden shock in the back, along with
the sound of crunched metal. 

 The two of them got out of the car immediately. They were confronted by
the rather irate driver of the other car, which was a black 1973 Dodge
Charger. The driver was female, clad in pair of jeans, a tee shirt, a
knee-length leather jacket, and a pair of biker boots--all the color of
her car. Her hair was black, pulled into a ponytail and stuffed under a
New York Yankees cap. 

 "Oh, damn!" The vexation she felt was present in her voice. 

 Stanley and Fraser looked at the damage done to the bumper. "Looks like
the taillight is shot," observed Fraser. 

 "No kidding, Fraser." Stanley was not at all happy about the crash. He
turned on the other driver. "Who the hell do you think you are? This car
is a classic, a 1973 Pontiac GTO. Do you know how hard it is going to be
to try to find a new part?" 

 The other driver matched Stanley's ferocity. "Yeah, well you hit me! And
how the hell do you think I feel about my car?" 

 "You don't feel much for cars considering--" 

 "Considering what?" 

 "Oh, nothing." 

 "Don't you think I have a hard time finding parts for this car?" 

 Stanley was on the edge of losing it. "YOU hit ME, you teenage nitwit,
and I bet the car ain't even covered. I could haul your ass in just for
hitting me. Do you know what I do?" 

 The girl spoke sarcastically. "Collect garbage?" 

 Stanley finally lost it. He grabbed the girl's arm and said, "No, I'm a
cop." 

 "So nice for ya!" The girl clenched her teeth. "Now let go of me before I
kick you so hard your first son is born with a high-pitched voice!" 

 Stanley took the threat seriously and let her go. "Who the hell are you?"


 The girl pulled out her wallet and, to Kowalski's considerable shock,
displayed a police identification card. "Detective Allie Mitchell." She
paused. "And you are...?" 

 "Detective Stanley Raymond Kowalski." 

 Mitchell was taken aback. "You're joking, right? I mean, Stanley Raymond
Kowalski? Come on, who's kidding who here?" 

 Fraser finally spoke up. "His dad was a big Marlon Brando fan." 

 Mitchell noticed Fraser for the first time. She raised her eyebrows
derisively at his red serge. "Who's Big Red?" 

 Stanley knew what was coming. "You shouldn't have asked that." 

 Fraser confirmed Stanley's suspicion right off the bat. "I am Constable
Benton Fraser. I first came to Chicago on the trail of the killers of my
father, and for reasons that don't need exploring at this juncture, I have
stayed on attached as liaison to the Canadian Consulate." 

 Mitchell was dumbfounded. "Okay, yeah. Sure." 

 Stanley shrugged. "Told you not to ask." 

 "And what's that supposed to mean?" 

 "Figure it out by yourself." Stanley turned and looked at where the two
cars collided. "Oh, man! Couldn't you have looked where you were going?" 

 Mitchell jumped back on the defensive. "I did not hit you! You hit me!" 

 "Bullshit! You hit me!" 

 Mitchell got into Stanley's face so that he could smell the toothpaste
still on her breath. "I did not hit you, and if you say I did one more
time, I'm gonna deck ya one. So let's just fill out the goddamned reports
so I can go to work." 

 It took a long, drawn-out fifteen minutes to fill out the necessary paper
work. When they were through, Stanley and Fraser got back into the GTO. 

 "Nice to meet ya," Mitchell said coldly. 

 "Yeah," Stanley retorted as he pulled away. "Not so nice to meet you!" He
drove off, leaving Mitchell shaking her head. 

 "Some people," she muttered. She pushed a strand of hair out of her eyes
and walked into the precinct. 

 The precinct was almost empty, with the exception of Ray, who was having
a hard time dealing with letting go of his kid sister, and a few others.
Without knocking, she walked into Lt. Welsh's office, where he was putting
together yet another of his infamous sandwiches. He was surprised to see
her standing there when he looked up. 

 "Can I help you?'' Welsh was rather gruff with his question. 

 "I'm Detective Mitchell. I transferred from--" 

 "New York, right?" Welsh asked. 

 Mitchell nodded. 

 "Okay. Uh, I don't know if Vecchio is here but I'll just see." He stood
up, walked to the door of his office, and spotted Ray getting a cup of the
police station's infamously revolting coffee. "Vecchio, get in here NOW!" 

 Ray gave a start, nearly spilling the coffee on his suit. He walked into
the lieutenant's office with amazing speed. "Yes, sir?" 

 Welsh cut to the chase. "I'm assigning you a partner as of today.
Vecchio, meet Detective Allie Mitchell." 

 Ray was quick to protest. "But sir, I already have a partner." 

 Welsh cut in. "Fraser is unofficial, Vecchio." He pointed a pickle spear
in Ray's direction as he spoke. "He can come in here and liaison his ass
off, but he is not a real Chicago detective. So you can either take your
new partner, or you can turn in your shield." 

 "What?" Mitchell asked. "You mean if he don't take me, I'm just gonna lay
here and rot?" 

 "Yes, sir." Ray walked out of Welsh's office, Mitchell trailing not far
behind. He sat down at his desk and put his head in his hands. "Oh, great!
First my kid sister is leaving, and now Welsh is saddling me with a
rookie!" 

 Mitchell did a double take. "What the hell do you mean by 'rookie?'" 

 "Listen!" Ray snapped. "I don't need this any more than the next guy
does, so you shut up and I'll handle everything!" 

 "We'll just see about that, hotshot!" 

 "What the hell is going on?" The authoritative female voice startled both
of them. 

 Ray was expecting his nemesis, Inspector Margaret Thatcher, a.k.a. The
Dragon Lady. What he saw startled him. He realized he recognized the young
woman as one of the officers that Welsh had secretly contacted in the
Victoria Metcalf case--Detective Elizabeth Walker, or Libby to her
colleagues. Her attire was not the red serge that Thatcher and Fraser
wore, but a pair of jeans, a khaki dress shirt, and a pair of Nike running
shoes, much to his relief. Her hair was dark brown, curly, and
shoulder-length. Her presence radiated defiance and confidence--slightly
cocky, yet laid-back. 

 "Detective Walker..." Ray was at a loss for words. 

 "Detective Armani." Walker's manner was succinct, almost cold. For a
split second she almost reminded Ray of Victoria, but the wry smile she
wore told him she was pulling his leg. 

 "Haven't lost your sense of humor yet." Ray nodded his head. 

 "Is Hardass Harding in?" 

 "That's Lt. Welsh to you." 

 "I know, but he isn't my boss till tomorrow morning. That gives me the
rest of today to call him whatever the heck I feel like calling him." 

 "I just got my ass chewed out by him. He's in his office." Ray pointed to
the door of Welsh's office. 

 "Thanks." Walker strode over to the lieutenant's office and pounded on
the door. "Hello in there!" 

 "Come in!" Welsh bellowed. 

 Walker was not intimidated at all. She walked into the office, rolling
her eyes at the sight of the makeshift deli on Welsh's desk. "Well, well,
well. Hardass Harding. Still putting together those mile-high sandwiches
of yours, eh?" 

 Welsh looked up at the blunt character assessment of himself, taking in
the sight before him. "Well, I'll be damned. Detective Elizabeth Janett
Walker." He picked up a file he had on his desk and looked through it. "We
were expecting you tomorrow afternoon." 

 "They finished the paperwork early and I had my crap moved out of my
office yesterday, so I decided to case the joint of my new precinct." She
paused. "It's not always this empty here, is it?" 

 "Hardly. The civilian aid is celebrating her last day on this force in
this area--probably at Kowalski's pad." 

 "Who's Kowalski?" 

 "Your new partner." 

 "You're giving me a partner already?" 

 "Yeah, but he'll be here tomorrow. Give him a chance to sleep off that
hangover." 

 "Great. I get to work with a party animal. When's he coming back?" 

 "Tomorrow. I told everyone to report back by one-thirty, but Kowalski's
probably going to be hung over like you wouldn't believe." 

 "Okay, I guess I'll see you later." Walker strode out into the bullpen,
where Mitchell and Ray were waiting. 

 "So what do you think?" Ray asked Walker. 

 Walker gave Ray a lopsided smile. "He's the same hardass I knew before." 

 ----- 

 That afternoon, Fraser and Ray were hacking away at some paperwork, while
thinking of Francesca, who was at that moment packing her bags to go to
boot camp. 

 Fraser broke the silence. "I'm going for some coffee. You want some?" 

 Ray looked up. "Revolting as it is, yes." He paused. "Say, how was
Kowalski when you left?" 

 "He looked horrible." 

 "Serves him right for driving my Riv into Lake Michigan, but I still
worry about him." 

 "I'll be back." He got up and walked to the break room. 

 Fraser watched the dark, revolting brew trickle into the cups that he had
retrieved. He was about to walk back when he spotted a young woman
standing near the window with an ice cream sandwich. 

 It was Walker. 

 Fraser was awestruck by how she looked--tall, lean, fierce, strong, and
healthy. Thoroughly impressed, he let out a low whistle. When Walker heard
this, she set her sandwich down, walked over to Fraser, and belted him on
the left side of the face, knocking him down. 

 "Just who do you think you were impressing?" Walker demanded. 

 "Ouch!" Fraser was stunned. "What was that all about?" As Fraser got up,
Walker was taken aback by the sight of his red serge. 

 She was hesitant to speak. "Look, Dudley Do-Right. I believe that women
deserve the same respect that men get all the time, which set me up for a
lot of crap at my old precinct. I swore to myself that the next person who
wolf-whistled in my direction would receive a knuckle sandwich." 

 "I didn't mean to offend you," said Fraser. "I was just impressed by the
strength you seem to have. You resemble a military hero." 

 "Don't I wish." Walker sounded tired. "My days at my old precinct were
hell. I couldn't turn anywhere without someone calling me 'baby cakes' or
'hot stuff.' I got next to no respect there." 

 "I didn't know--" 

 "It's okay, it's not your fault." Walker paused. "I know your name isn't
Dudley Do-Right, 'cause if it is, then I have reason to be scared. So
could you please do me a favor and tell me your real name?" 

 Fraser extended his hand. "Constable Benton Fraser." 

 Walker took his hand and shook it. "Libby Walker. Detective, First
Class." She paused. "What's a Mountie like you doing here in Chicago?" 

 Fraser was surprised. "You actually want to know?" 

 Walker nodded. "But please fill me in before my ice cream melts, okay?" 

 The two sat down, and Fraser spilled his guts. 

 ----- 

 The next morning, Stanley walked into the bullpen carrying his patented
hangover cure--a cup of coffee and a package of chewy Sprees. As he walked
over to his desk, he noticed Mitchell sitting there, feet on the desk,
playing with a baseball. 

 The two suddenly noticed each other. "YOU!" they shouted in unison. 

 "What the hell are you doing here, and especially at my desk?" Stanley
demanded. 

 "I work here!" Mitchell shot back. 

 "Well, this is my desk, so get your goddamned feet off of it!" 

 "With pleasure!" Mitchell slammed her feet to the floor. "Is that better,
SIR?" 

 "Get away from my desk before you screw something up!" Stanley shouted. 

 Mitchell stood up. "Listen, okay? You ain't my boss, I sure as hell don't
like you, and I sure as hell ain't going to let a scrawny little--" 

 "GET THE HELL AWAY FROM MY DESK!" Stanley roared. The effort drained him,
though; he held his head afterwards. 

 "My pleasure!" shouted Mitchell as she threw the baseball at Stanley and
stalked away. She shoved past Fraser into the break room, where Walker was
sitting. Walker jumped as Mitchell punched the soda machine. 

 "Damn, and I thought I was ticked yesterday," said Walker. 

 "And what's that supposed to mean?" Mitchell snapped. 

 "I had a little run-in with Fraser yesterday. It was just a
misunderstanding, though." 

 "Oh. Big Red." Mitchell slugged the machine again. 

 Walker smiled. "Works if you put money into it. What's the matter?" 

 "I ain't thirsty, and my problem is that god damned detective Kowalski!" 

 "Yep, our man Kowalski is something else. I mean, coffee and Sprees to
cure a hangover? I didn't ingest that much sugar during my Academy days!"
Walker paused. "Maybe that's why I came that close to losing it." 

 "Hmph!" Mitchell grabbed a chair, sat, down, and put her feet on the
table. 

 "Well, I gotta hand it to you, you sure know how to relax! Now, back to
Kowalski." 

 "Don't get me started on that jerk!" Mitchell was furious. "He ran into
my car and then he insulted me! I just want to pound him!" 

 "At least you're not his partner." 

 "You're not saying?" 

 "I am. He didn't come in yesterday because he had what could possibly be
the world's most horrendous hangover on record." 

 "So what you're saying...is that he was drunk off his ass." 

 "From what I heard, but I only came in late that morning. I didn't
witness anything." 

 "What's there to witness? He's an arrogant asshole!" 

 Walker shrugged. "I haven't witnessed him in action. We haven't been
assigned yet." 

 Welsh suddenly stuck his head inside the break room. "Walker, in my
office! You and Kowalski got your first assignment together!" 

 "Speak of the devil." Walker stood up. "I gotta go. Meet me at Starbucks
after our shifts. Coffee's on me." 

 "Later." Mitchell stared blankly at the door as Walker left. 

 ----- 

 Walker was silent as she and Stanley rode in his GTO to the crime scene
on Windsor Street. She had been aware of the lady-killer case before she
transferred to the 27th, but she hadn't been asked to play an active part
in the investigation. Now that she was going to get her hands dirty, she
was a bit unsure about how she would perform. 

 As she and Stanley got out of the GTO, she took a look at her
surroundings. The street was sealed off to ward off intruders. Two medical
examiners were going into the apartment building with a body bag. A man
was waiting outside the building. Jack Huey and Thomas Dewey were walking
out with the clipboard that bore the data on the corpse. Fraser was
sitting on the curb with his head in his hands, Dief right next to him.
The latter struck Walker as odd. 

 As Walker was taking in her surroundings, Stanley was already
interrogating the man outside. "I didn't hear any signs of forced entry or
struggle," the man was saying. "I was just cleaning out my fridge when I
heard the tumult of something falling down the stairs. I got there as fast
as I could, but it was too late. The poor girl was already beyond help." 

 As Stanley was taking down the witness's testimony, Walker was discussing
Huey and Dewey's findings with them. 

 "Who was the victim, Detective Dewey?" 

 Dewey looked at his clipboard. "The victim was identified as Victoria
Metcalf, age thirty-one. She was a resident in the uppermost apartment in
the building." 

 "Victoria Metcalf." The name rang a clear bell in Walker's mind. The
Canadian bank robbery, the murder of Julian Chardeux in the park, the
shooting of--Fraser! "My God--she came back." She shook her head rapidly
to set herself straight. "Cause of death, please." 

 Dewey checked the clipboard again. "The victim--" 

 "We know her name, Detective Dewey!" 

 Dewey was taken aback. "Okay, Victoria apparently was forced down a
stairwell. She must have snapped her neck in the fall." 

 "Oh, jeez." The sarcasm was present in Walker's voice. "That's a great
way to die. Fast but scared." As she looked around, she saw Fraser looking
utterly destroyed. "What's Fraser doing over there? She was the reason he
got shot, so why is he sad?" 

 Huey took a deep breath. "Here's the story. Okay, you already know about
the bank robbery. Well, Fraser trailed her into Fortitude Pass, where they
got stuck in a blizzard. It was here that they fell in love, but he turned
her in regardless at the end, making her somewhat bitter. Anyway, two
years ago, she showed up in Chicago and somewhere down the line she shot
Dief. She killed a man--" 

 "Julian Chardeux, her surviving accomplice in the robbery, I know." 

 "Right. Then, she tried to get Fraser to come with her and, in doing so,
caused Vecchio to shoot him. It's probably shorter than the version that
Fraser's gonna give." 

 "My God." Walker looked for Stanley. "Hey Kowalski! Get over here!" 

 Stanley rushed over to Walker, his emotions detached. "Did you know the
dead body--" 

 "Fraser's doomed romance. Huey told me." Walker paused. "You tie up the
loose ends of this while I go talk to Fraser, okay?" 

 "Okay." 

 Walker headed over to Fraser, whose face was tear-splotched and red faced
from crying. She put her arm around him. "Are you going to be okay?" 

 Fraser could barely choke out a response. "I can't believe this happened.
I didn't care that she was a criminal, I loved her. She was the first--and
possibly the only--woman I felt that way about in my life, and now she's
gone." He let out a sob-ridden sigh. "When I accompanied Huey and Dewey
here, I knew something was wrong. But even after I saw her body, I still
refused to believe it. Why her?" 

 Walker could think of a million reasons why it could be Victoria. Her
criminal record set her up for the potential of numerous visceral enemies
who wanted her dead. On the other hand, she could have been just another
random victim in the series of killings that had been going on. But Walker
knew that what was on her mind was not what Fraser needed to hear. She,
like Fraser, knew how love could hurt. She had fallen for so many jerks
during her years in high school, college, and the police force that
sometimes she didn't think she had the capacity to love. On the other hand
though, she had a small handful of friends whose love helped her to
overcome the hell of her turbulent romantic life. The love that they had
showed her was the love that Fraser needed right then. 

 She put her arms around Fraser and held him close to her, rocking him
gently. "I understand," she whispered as she felt the wetness of Fraser's
tears penetrate the shoulder fabric on her shirt. "I know what you are
going through." 

 ----- 

 The next day at noon, Ray, Fraser, and Walker sat around Ray's desk going
over the evidence taken from the crime scene. The bullpen was virtually
deserted due to the lunch hour; Huey and Dewey had even persuaded Welsh to
eat out for once. 

 Fraser looked up from the piece of paper he was holding. "The witness
said he heard no struggling or screaming. Was it possible that the killer
made his move in the apartment before throwing Victoria down the stairs?" 

 Ray shook his head. "If that was so, there would have been a significant
difference in the way her neck was broken. I mean, you can usually tell
when a neck has been broken by hand, and when a neck has been broken by
other means." 

 "I get it," said Walker. " If the killer broke Victoria's neck by hand,
the spinal cord would have been twisted badly. No, we got a clean rupture.
Damn thing snapped right in half." 

 "Any theories, Lib--Walker?" Fraser asked, while sneaking shy glances at
her. 

 "No. I was gonna suggest that a blunt object was used, but there would
have been severe bruising in that case, so I don't have a clue." 

 "What about you, Ray? Do you have anything?" Fraser asked Ray, even
though he was still looking at Walker. 

 "The only way I think it could have happened was that the killer was
already in the apartment when Victoria came in," stated Ray. "He somehow
rendered her totally immobile, and then he tossed her down the stairs." 

 "So what you're saying is that you think someone used a taser gun on
her?" asked Fraser. 

 Ray grinned. "Bingo!" 

 "Damn, this place is too quiet," said Walker. "Where is everybody?" 

 "At lunch," Ray replied. "Speaking of which, I'm kind of hungry myself. I
thought I'd go and get us some sandwiches. What do you like on yours?" 

 "Doesn't matter to me," said Fraser. 

 Walker laughed. "Anything but mayo." 

 "Okay," said Ray. "I'll get some chips and pop, too." He got up from his
desk and left the bullpen for the nearest sandwich shop. 

 Walker crossed over and sat at Ray's desk. "Nice desk," she said.
"Doesn't have all the scratches and graffiti that my old desk had on it." 

 She opened Ray's big drawer, where she proceeded to gawk in amazement and
pull out a spare Armani shirt. "Jeez Louise!" she exclaimed. "Like he
doesn't have enough of these at home!" 

 A light suddenly came into Walker's eyes. She put the shirt on and moved
her eyebrows rapidly. 

 "What are you doing, Walker?" Fraser asked. 

 "What am I doing?" Walker was imitating Ray. "I could ask you the same
thing about that uniform of yours. I'll tell you one thing--you better not
wear that to the United Center. The Bulls play there--they'll rip you
apart with that big red thing you're wearing!" 

 "What?" 

 "They better not do it around me, though." She was milking the
performance with everything she had. "I don't want your blood ruining this
shirt--you've ruined too many of my suits already." 

 "Now I get it." Fraser caught on. "You're Vecchio." 

 Walker rolled her eyes in jest. "Charlie, tell Dudley Do-Right what he's
won." 

 "A rather good impersonation, but there's only one thing wrong." 

 "What's that?" Walker's curiosity was roused. 

 Fraser smiled. "I wouldn't do this with Vecchio." As he said it, Fraser
walked over to where Walker was sitting, removed his Stetson and set it on
Ray's desk. He came up behind her, leaned forward, and very gently kissed
her on the eyebrow. 

 Walker froze for a minute before getting up and walking to the other side
of Ray's desk as Fraser sat down in the vacated chair. When she spoke, her
voice was shaky. "Constable Fraser, I appreciate your affection, but I
have to tell you something. Here in the U.S., we have a concept called the
professional relationship. This is usually applied in places of work--" 

 Fraser cut her off. "I know what a professional relationship is. For the
most part, they're the only kind of relationships I've had." He was silent
for a minute. When he spoke again, his voice carried a sense of innocent
seduction that even Ray would have argued wasn't characteristic of him.
"Come here, Walker, if you want to." 

 Walker hesitated for a second as she looked down. When she mustered up
the courage to look up, she found herself staring into Fraser's eyes. Her
eyes showed a faint glimmer brightening by the second, while his eyes were
already blazing hot. She slowly walked toward Fraser in a trance, toward
the chair, and right next to him, where she leaned forward and kissed him
on the exact same spot where she had punched him. 

 Fraser's eyes brightened. "You were saying about a professional
relationship?" 

 Walker fumbled for her voice. "I was going to say, when other people are
in the workplace, but it appears that even Welsh is off stuffing his
face--" 

 Fraser cut her off again. "Exactly my point, Libby." 

 Walker was startled at being addressed by her first name. "Okay, forget I
said anything." Her voice suddenly dropped. "Is there anyplace I can sit?"


 "How about here?" In a very un-Benton-ly manner, Fraser gestured toward
his lap. Walker opened her mouth to protest, but Fraser tugged on her
wrist insistently. His strength pulled Walker toward him, so that it was
impossible not to end up sitting on his lap. 

 Walker chuckled. "You're new at this, aren't you?" 

 "What gives you that idea?" Fraser asked softly. 

 "Your face is redder than your serge." 

 "It is not," said Fraser as he put his arms around Walker. 

 "Yes, it is." Walker brought her hand to Fraser's face. The two looked
into each other's eyes for a few minutes. 

 "Libby..." Fraser's voice was almost inaudible. 

 Walker tried to mouth the word "Benton," but she was halted by the
pressure of Fraser's lips on her own. The two sat in Ray's chair, holding
each other tightly and kissing each other passionately. They were so
caught up in their strong emotion that neither one noticed Ray walking
into the bullpen with three each of subs, bags of chips, and sodas. 

 Ray froze dead when he saw the scene in front of him. Fraser and Walker
were sitting in his chair, Fraser's Stetson on the desk next to Walker's
feet, Walker wearing his spare Armani shirt, Fraser gently planting a kiss
on her Adam's apple, the two of them in a tight embrace. 

 Ray wasn't sure what to be more shocked about--the fact that Walker had
found--and was wearing--his spare Armani, or the fact that Fraser was
apparently in love with someone other than Victoria. At any rate, his
surprise was made apparent. "Oh, my God!" 

 Fraser and Walker pulled away, both red in the face. Ray couldn't tell if
it was from newfound love or embarrassment at his having walked in on
them. 

 "Fraser, you finally found yourself a girl!" 

 Walker smiled. "Hey Benton, I guess we can split the third sandwich
because Vecchio looks like he's lost his appetite!" She got up off of
Fraser's lap. 

 Ray spread the food on his desk. "Nice try, Walker. Now can you two put
on the appearance of a professional relationship so we can discuss this
case?" 

 "Sure." Fraser was nonchalant. "What do you have?" 

 "I thought about how the body was found." Ray pulled up two more chairs
for Fraser and Walker. "Aside from the bruises, Victoria sustained no
severe trauma to the head, which would normally knock someone out cold." 

 "So it was a taser gun!" Walker exclaimed. 

 "You know, I think we might have something." Ray, Fraser, and Walker sat
down to eat. 

 ----- 

 As Ray, Fraser, and Walker were discussing the case over lunch, Stanley
and Mitchell were walking down to the morgue. Both felt rather uneasy,
Stanley especially. 

 Stanley's uneasiness showed in his voice. "How the hell did I get roped
into accompanying you to the morgue?" 

 "What's the matter, Kowalski?" Mitchell asked derisively. "Can't stand to
be around a few dead bodies?" 

 "Where's Vecchio? He's your partner, I'm not!" 

 "How the hell should I know? I'm not his babysitter!" 

 They continued fighting as they entered the morgue. The morgue attendant,
Mort, was humming, ironically, Copland's "Appalachian Spring" as he was
investigating a nearby body. Another body lay not far away and was covered
by a white sheet. 

 Stanley turned deathly pale, almost the color of the sheet. "Aw man, I
can't take this!" he said under his breath. 

 Mitchell walked over to the lonely body and smirked as she ripped away
the sheet. "Oh, come on, Kowalski. It's just a dead body. What, you think
it's going to jump up and grab you?" 

 Stanley was now the color of the sheet. "No!" 

 Mort's humming could no longer be heard. "So what is it that we're
looking for?" Mitchell asked. 

 "I don't know." Stanley tried to keep his nerves in check. "What kind of
marks does a taser leave?" 

 "Burn marks, I guess." Mitchell paused. "Something's wrong." 

 "What?" 

 "It's awfully quiet in here." 

 Stanley listened for a minute, then walked over to the door and tried it.
"Damn!" 

 "What?" asked Mitchell. 

 Stanley tried the door again, and then he turned to Mitchell with a look
of utter shock and dismay. "It's locked!" 

 "You're kidding." 

 Stanley shook his head. "No, I'm not." 

 Mitchell ran to the door and pulled on it. When that didn't work, she
began pounding on it. "Hey! Let us out! God damn it, let us out of here!" 

 Stanley shook his head. "They can't hear us." 

 "What?" Mitchell was incredulous. 

 Stanley gestured toward the walls. "Soundproof." 

 ----- 

 As Stanley and Mitchell were trying to beat their way out of the morgue,
Ray, Fraser, and Walker were still sitting at Ray's desk, reexamining the
evidence and finishing their lunch. Unknown to Ray, Fraser and Walker were
holding hands under the desk, and unknown to Fraser, Ray was slipping Dief
the remains of his sandwich. 

 Dief was appeased. He let out with a single, low "Woof." 

 "So what do we do now?" Ray asked. 

 Fraser was a bit hesitant to speak, but he said, "Do you think we should
go down to the morgue and check the body?" 

 "Kowalski and Mitchell are down there already," said Ray. 

 "Another reason for us to go down there," said Walker. "If we don't,
we'll have two more dead bodies down there." 

 "We're probably too late for that," Ray retorted. 

 Fraser sighed. "With any luck, Kowalski probably passed out the minute he
walked in." 

 "Is he afraid of dead bodies?" Walker asked. 

 Fraser nodded. "Very much afraid." 

 "I bet Mitchell is eating that up," Walker retorted. The three then heard
the phone ring in Welsh's office. 

 Ray got up. "I'll get that." He immediately darted for the phone, leaving
Walker and Fraser alone. 

 Walker took the time to voice a rather deep concern. "Fraser, you were
practically devastated at the crime scene yesterday. What happened between
then and now?" 

 Fraser thought for a minute before he spoke. "I had a chance to think
things over last night when I got home. The thing was, I did love her, but
I..." His voice faltered a bit before he moved on. "It was disconcerting
even when I was with her, because I knew that I had to turn her in." He
paused. "When she killed Jolly for blackmailing her, I was torn, as I was
at the train-having to decide whether to go with her or after her. I was
still torn as I was lying in the hospital--thanks to Ray. I just...I don't
know--I was sad when I heard of her death, but in a way, I guess I was
relieved that she wouldn't ever haunt me again." Another pause followed.
"I went out last night and threw a rose into Lake Michigan for her as a
testament to whatever love existed between us. I loved her, but it's time
for me to move on and start fresh." 

 "Wise thing for you to do," said Walker. "But of all the women here at
the precinct and at the Consulate, why did you decide on me?" 

 "Like I said, you seemed like a strong woman, and everything I've seen of
you so far proves it," said Fraser. "You also were willing to listen to my
life story without yawning or fidgeting as if you wanted to leave." 

 Walker smiled briefly, then resumed a straight face. "Don't flip when I
ask you this, but will going to the morgue bother you?" 

 Fraser shifted uncomfortably. "Probably. I was one of the first ones out
there. You were talking to the medical examiner." 

 "You mentioned that you saw her body already." 

 "I did," said Fraser, "but I think it would be totally horrifying in the
morgue. It would make the reality of her death seem too..." 

 "Real." Walker finished. 

 "Yes." 

 "I'll understand if you don't want to come." Walker reached over and
hugged Fraser. Fraser returned the hug as Ray came back into the bullpen. 

 Ray was incredulous. "Can't you guys carry on a professional relationship
for at least five seconds?" 

 Walker rolled her eyes. "Take a class in sensitivity, Vecchio," she
muttered under her breath as she kissed Fraser's cheek to spite him. 

 Fraser chuckled as the two separated. "Who was that on the phone?" 

 "Welsh's wife," said Ray. "She was calling about a possible night at the
opera." He rolled his eyes as he said it. He paused. "Kowalski and
Mitchell back yet?" 

 "No," said Fraser. 

 It was Walker's turn to roll her eyes. "They probably killed each other."


 Ray took charge. "I'm going down there." 

 "Ditto," said Walker. She turned to Fraser. "I'll be back in a few
minutes. We can talk when I do." She grabbed Fraser's shoulder and kissed
him quickly on the corner of the mouth. "Till then." She patted him on the
shoulder before she followed Ray out of the bullpen. 

 ----- 

 In the morgue, a storm was brewing. Stanley and Mitchell were having it
out verbally, and it had gotten to the point where Mitchell had Stanley by
the collar and was getting ready to punch his lights out. 

 As Mitchell was about to deliver the first punch, the lock to the door
clicked. Ray and Walker flung it open to reveal the trapped detectives in
a rather unprofessional position. 

 "Who the hell locked the door?" Ray asked. 

 "I don't know," said Mitchell. "I'm just glad you're here." 

 "Why is that?" Walker asked. 

 "So I can get the hell out of here and away from this idiot." 

 "Idiot?!" Stanley was incredulous. "You're calling me an idiot? Who's the
one who kept banging on the doors after I said they were soundproof?" 

 "Shut up!" 

 "No, you shut up!" 

 Ray shook his head and laughed as Stanley and Mitchell engaged in yet
another verbal battle. 

 "What's so funny?" asked Walker. 

 "They remind me of my sisters." 

 Walker managed a wry smile. "This is minor league compared to what my two
brothers engaged in, combat-wise." 

 Ray looked down and noticed that Walker was still wearing his spare
Armani. He tugged on the tail of it gently. "Can I have this back?" 

 Walker took the shirt off. "Here you go." She tried to hand Ray the
shirt, but he suddenly waved her aside. 

 "I'm going to break this scuffle up." Ray walked over to Mitchell and
Stanley, only to see that the former had the latter by the shirt collar.
"Hey, come on, let's break this up!" 

 Mitchell dropped Stanley and belted Ray on the side of the nose. 

 "Ow! Son of a bitch!" 

 "Maybe you shouldn't have stuck your nose in!" said Mitchell. 

 "Bad choice of words, considering that Vecchio's nose is bleeding," said
Walker. 

 Ray brought his hand to his nose and touched it gently, only to find that
Walker was telling the truth. "Damn!" 

 "Mitchell! Ray!" Fraser's voice could be heard outside the entrance to
the morgue. When Walker heard his voice, she turned her attention to the
uncovered body she was standing next to. As she looked at it, she
recognized it as Victoria Metcalf, Fraser's ex-lover. Walker immediately
positioned herself so Fraser didn't see her face, and she proceeded to
investigate Victoria's body. 

 Fraser entered the immediate area from which Stanley left. Upon looking
at Ray, he said, "Ray, what the heck happened to you?" 

 "You don't want to know." Ray's response was clipped, terse, and tight. 

 "Leftenant Welsh just got back," said Fraser. "He wants to see you and
Mitchell now." 

 "Damn." Ray brought a hand to his bleeding nose. He glared at Mitchell.
"Let's go." 

 Walker came out of the morgue as Ray and Mitchell left. "You guys are
going to be happy when I tell you what I found," she said. She suddenly
noticed Stanley looking deathly pale. "Hello in there! You okay?" 

 "I need some coffee," said Stanley. 

 "Better get some Sprees while you're at it," Walker pointed out. Stanley
looked at her in confusion before he left. 

 Once Fraser and Walker were alone, Fraser asked, "What did you find?" 

 "I was looking over Victoria as you were sending Vecchio and Mitchell out
of here." Walker paused. "Upon closer inspection, I found a pair of raised
bumps on her lower back." 

 "Taser marks?" Fraser asked. 

 "I'd bet my life on it. 

 Fraser reached over and touched Walker's cheek. "You're cold." 

 Walker shivered and knew she couldn't deny it. "I guess I am." 

 "Here." Fraser carefully unbuttoned his red serge jacket and took it off.
"This should help," he said as he placed the serge on Walker's shoulders. 

 "Thanks." Walker looked down and noticed that she was still holding Ray's
spare shirt. "Is Vecchio ever going to get this back?" 

 Fraser shrugged his shoulders. "At least he wasn't bleeding on it." 

 ----- 

 Ray and Mitchell walked into Welsh's office very slowly. Ray's nose was
still bleeding, and Mitchell's hands were bruised and bloody from when she
was beating on the doors to the morgue. 

 Welsh spoke up. "What the hell happened to your nose, Vecchio?" 

 "Let's just say I met up with fate and fate didn't like me." 

 Welsh grabbed a tissue off the box on his desk and handed it to Ray.
"Here," he said as Ray took it. "I don't want you bleeding all over my
office." 

 "Gee, thanks," Ray muttered as he applied the appropriate pressure to his
bleeding nose. 

 Welsh then noticed Mitchell's beaten up hands. "Mitchell, what the hell
happened to your hands?" 

 "I met up with a door." Mitchell's voice carried the message, "Pry any
further and I'll show you how I did!" 

 Welsh held up his hands. "I won't even ask." He paused, then continued.
"Here's why I called you in here--we got more bad news." 

 "You mean what by that?" Mitchell asked. 

 "Our lady killer has struck again. Another stiff." 

 Ray took a moment to soak this in, then asked, "Who was it?" 

 "They don't know." Welsh wrung his hands as he spoke. "We do know it was
female. She was floating face down in the Chicago River. We couldn't
identify her at the scene because she was nude. She didn't have anything
on her in the way of identification." 

 "Damn." Mitchell looked down at her shoes. 

 "Do they know whether or not it was a suicide?" Ray asked. 

 "Highly unlikely. Someone would have noticed a nudist jumping off a
bridge. It had to be a homicide." 

 "Was a description given?" Ray asked. 

 Welsh nodded. "Five-six, skinny, blond hair, blue eyes." Welsh paused.
"What's really disturbing is that she sounds like the State's Attorney." 

 Ray was incredulous. "Stella?" 

 "Who?" Mitchell was confused. 

 "State's Attorney Kowalski. Stanley's ex-wife." 

 Mitchell decided to speak. "Why don't you call her?" 

 "I did. Her secretary says she hasn't been in for a few days. I called
her at home as well. No answer." Welsh paused. "It could be her." 

 "This isn't good." Ray's distress was apparent. "If it is, Kowalski's
gonna lose his mind." 

 "Do we have the body yet?" Mitchell asked. 

 "It's still at the crime scene. They'll bring it in when they're done. In
about half an hour." 

 "We'll meet them in the morgue." 

 ----- 

 When Ray and Mitchell reached the morgue, they found Fraser and Walker
already there. They appeared to be carrying on a professional discussion,
but Ray could detect the reddish tint in their cheeks that suggested yet
another round of tongue wrestling had taken place. 

 Ray rolled his eyes. "Never fails, does it? I leave you two alone--" 

 "Can it, Detective Armani." Walker's voice was cold. 

 "What the hell is going on?" asked Mitchell. 

 "Long story." Ray rolled his eyes. "They've been like this all day." 

 "This is the first time I've seen Big Red's face redder than his serge!"
said Mitchell. 

 Ray turned to Fraser and Walker. "Did you two see a body coming in?" 

 "Yeah." Walker spoke up. "Two. You guys." 

 "Besides us." Ray ignored the glint in Walker's eye, not sure if it was
from the round of tonsil-hockey that she had played with Fraser or her
sense of humor. 

 Mort walked into the morgue, humming Wagner's "Ride of the Valkyries."
"Vat are you ladies and gentle men looking for?" he asked. 

 "Another body," said Ray. "They found it in the Chicago River." 

 "Ven vas zis?" 

 Ray cleared his throat. "Half an hour ago." 

 "Forty five minutes." This from Mitchell. 

 "Excuse me!" Ray glared at Mitchell again. 

 "Another one?" Fraser asked. 

 "Unfortunately, yes." Ray paused. "Welsh thinks it might be the State's
Attorney." 

 "Oh, no," said Fraser. 

 "Why?" Walker's curiosity was roused. "Who's the State's Attorney?" 

 "Kowalski's ex-wife." 

 Mitchell raised her eyebrows. "I didn't know anybody could stand him long
enough to be married to him." She paused. "So what's her name? Stella?" 

 "Actually, yes." Ray's voice was cold. "I mentioned that in Welsh's
office." 

 "Oh, god." Mitchell was speechless. "Please tell me you're kidding." 

 Fraser opened his mouth to speak, but was interrupted by the entrance of
Huey, Dewey, and five or more morgue technicians. They were carrying a
body with them. 

 "Where did you find this one, Jack?" Ray asked. 

 "The Chicago River." Huey glanced around. "This one looks like it could
be Kowalski's ex." 

 "Damn." Ray cursed under his breath as the body was wheeled into the
morgue. He turned to Mitchell. "Let's go." He then turned toward Fraser
and Walker. "We'll do this ourselves. No offense, but the way you two have
been, you wouldn't get anything done." 

 "We'll watch, just the same," said Walker as she and Fraser followed Ray
and Mitchell into the morgue. 

 "Now what?" asked Mitchell. 

 "We take a look," said Dewey. He and Huey had stayed behind after all the
morgue technicians had left. 

 Huey pulled back the sheet. Underneath was a female body that matched the
given description. "My god," he mused. "It does look like Stella." 

 "I don't want to tell Kowalski if it is," said Dewey. 

 "Well, we don't know her from Eve, nor did we ever." Mitchell was growing
impatient. "Let's start investigating this. Look for anything abnormal." 

 "I'll get her prints," Walker volunteered as she ran over to the
equipment table and grabbed an inkpad and a sheet of paper. She ran over
to the body and inked up its fingertips, then transferred them to the
paper. 

 "Find anything unusual?" asked Huey. 

 "Not yet," said Mitchell as she searched for a few minutes. Suddenly,
"What the hell is this?" 

 Ray walked over to her. "What did you find?" 

 "Two sets of welts on the lower back." Mitchell turned the body over and
showed everyone the bumps on the girl's back. "Take a look." 

 The detectives crowded around for a closer look. 

 "Omigod," said Walker. "Victoria had those bumps on her back--" 

 "And so did the other victims!" exclaimed Ray. 

 "Taser marks," said Dewey. "This girl must have been stunned twice before
she was thrown overboard. Once to remove her clothing and
identification--" 

 "And again so she couldn't resist when she was tossed into the river!"
said Mitchell. 

 "Like I said, that's a horrible way to die," said Walker. "I'm going to
run these through the police computer. See what I can dig up." 

 "I'll come with you." Fraser joined Walker as she left the morgue. 

 "So from what I've heard, Fraser's gotten over Victoria," said Huey when
Fraser and Walker had left. 

 "Yeah." Ray looked around. "He's spending more time playing tonsil-hockey
with Walker than doing his job." 

 "Fraser??!" Dewey was incredulous. "Mister
Dudley-Do-Right-Tuktoyaktuk-Thank-You-Kindly, Mister
I'm-Scared-Of-Women-So-Please-Put-The-Gun-And-Lingerie-Away-Before-I-Screa
m-In-Sheer-Terror, making love to one of our own here?" 

 "For all I know, they could have gone that far," said Ray. 

 "Not Fraser." Huey was adamant. "He's too much of a gentleman." 

 Mitchell decided to jump in and change the subject. "So, do you guys
think it's the same guy who's doing this, or does he have accomplices?" 

 "Probably the same guy," said Ray. "As for accomplices, I don't know." 

 "I don't have a clue as to who could be helping either," said Dewey. "I
don't know who would want to participate in such a sick crime." 

 "I have to agree," said Huey. "I mean, only a real sick bastard would get
any considerable amount of pleasure from throwing immobile women to a
watery grave." 

 The four nodded in silent agreement. For five minutes, nobody said
anything. 

 Ray finally stood up and said, "I'm going to see if Fraser and Walker are
actually working." 

 "We were." The voice belonged to Walker. She and Fraser were standing in
the doorway. 

 "What do you have?" asked Dewey. 

 "Good news and bad news," said Fraser. 

 Ray turned pale, but he swallowed his anxiety. "The good news?" 

 "We got a positive ID on the stiff," said Walker. 

 "And the bad news?" Dewey egged her on. 

 Walker hesitated before she opened her mouth again. "Um..." 

 "Spit it out, Walker!" Ray was losing his patience. 

 Walker took a deep breath. "The hard drive crashed right after the
results were printed." 

 Ray shook his head. "Welsh is going to flip." 

 "There's more good news, though," said Fraser. "It's not Stella." 

 Ray sighed with relief. "Thank God." 

 "I'll say." Walker stretched her arms as Welsh stalked into the morgue. 

 "Did you identify the body yet?" Welsh asked. 

 "Yes, we did," said Fraser, not wanting to break the news to him about
the crashed hard drive. 

 "And?" Welsh was getting impatient. 

 Walker checked the sheet she had in her hands. "The victim was identified
as Regina Birks, age thirty-three." 

 "Good." Welsh sounded relieved. "It's not Stella." He paused. "Then why
did you have the deer-in-the-headlights look on your face when I came in?"


 Fraser spoke up. "The hard drive crashed right after we got the results."
Do something, Walker thought. He thinks it's his ex. Set him straight. 

 Stanley finally regained his voice. "STELLA!" he shouted in anguish. As
he knelt down and placed his head on his arms, he began to cry. 

 Walker tapped Stanley on the shoulder. "Kowalski!" she shouted. 

 "Leave me alone!" 

 "Just look at this! Trust me!" 

 After a few minutes, Stanley looked up, red-eyed, as Walker handed him
the print identification results. As Stanley read them, his grief turned
quickly to total mortification. 

 "Regina Birks?" he said, red in the face from total embarrassment. "I've
been sobbing over a stiff named Regina Birks?" 

 Ray was trying to suppress a laugh. "Yes, Stan, you have," he said. 

 Stanley got up off the floor and wiped his eyes. "I feel like a total
idiot," he muttered, shaking his head. 

 "Not like it's an out-of-body experience," said Mitchell. Stanley and
Walker both glared at her. 

 "You have to admit, though," said Huey. "That girl was a dead ringer for
Stella." 

 "I'm going to go upstairs and see if I can't get in touch with Stella,"
said Welsh. "I still don't know where she is." 

 "Good luck," said Ray as Welsh left the morgue. 

 "I, uh, gotta go pick something up," said Mitchell. "If Welsh asks, I'm
on my lunch break." 

 "Okay," said Dewey as Mitchell exited the morgue. 

 Stanley was still shaking his head. "Jeez, I'm thinkin' I need a good
kick in the head!" 

 "It could be worse," said Walker as she and Stanley walked out of the
immediate morgue area and sat down. "I know someone who once brought a
Chihuahua home from Mexico, only for it to die a few days later and for
someone to find out it was really a Mexican sewer rat!" 

 Stanley looked like he was about to throw up. "Really?" he asked. 

 "She's lying," said Dewey. "That's one of the oldest urban legends
going." 

 "Shut up, Duck Boy," said Walker. She turned to Stanley. "My point is,
you're not alone. People have screwed up worse than that." 

 "I wonder if people have actually screwed up that badly," said Stanley. 

 "Who knows?" asked Walker. "You never know how many of those legends
might be true." 

 ----- 

 Later on in the day, Stanley and Walker were going over the evidence
found on the body of Regina Birks, while Ray and Fraser were going over
the rap sheets of anybody who might be a suspect. Unknown to Stanley, who
was at Walker's desk, Dief was eating the Twinkies on his desk. 

 Dief was appeased. He let out with a single, low "Woof." 

 "What's Dief woofing about?" Stanley asked. 

 "He usually does that when he gets some food that Fraser doesn't know
about," said Ray from across the bullpen. 

 "If he--" Stanley suddenly turned around, only to find that Dief was
sitting in his chair, licking his lips. The Twinkies were gone. 

 "Fraser!" Stanley yelled. "Your wolf just scarfed down the last of my
Twinkies!" 

 "Dief, come here. Now, you ingrate." Fraser seemed angry. 

 "Why is Fraser so irate all of a sudden?" Walker asked. 

 "Fraser has Dief on a diet. He won't let him near the junk food, but Dief
has his ways." 

 "I can imagine that," said Walker. "From what Vecchio told me, Dief has
been notorious for stealing donuts from the people on duty here." 

 "And Fraser owes quite a bit of money for those donuts," said Ray. 

 Dief suddenly lifted his nose and started barking. His loud reports
startled everyone in the bullpen. 

 "What the hell?" Ray shouted. Return to the Due South Fiction Archive