Chapter Text
Archive footage
2 May (Thursday) 06:53
CCTV MHS 1, 2 & 4
A boy in a Midtown letter jacket is on the school grounds, bouncing a basketball and staring at the buildings as he walks around. He trips on a piece of debris and falls face first into into a flower bed.
17 May (Friday) 07:10
Streetcam:Ingram Street, Forest Hills, Queens, New York City
White Hyundai Sonata license HGT-4424
Asset: Reese, John
Asset: Shaw, Sameen
Shaw bit into her apple. “So tell us about this Parker kid, Finch. He looks pretty young.”
“He's 16, a junior at Midtown High School. He seems to mostly get around by skateboard or public transportation, so you should have no trouble following him by bicycle, Ms Shaw.”
“Hmph,” she grunted. “It's still dorky.”
“But unobtrusive, which is what the situation calls for.”
“How many other people live here?" asked Reese.
“Unfortunately, just one, and she's left for work already.”
“Unfortunately?”
“His parents died in a plane crash before he turned five. The circumstances were… murky. For the last eleven years, he's lived with his uncle—his father's older brother—and his aunt. The uncle was gunned down about a month and a half ago. Now he only has his aunt. He is, essentially, an orphan. May Parker works swing shifts at a staffing agency.”
“Money?” asked Shaw.
“There's not much. Every penny going into the family bank account goes out before the next payday.”
“Could be a motive for him then, if he's the perpetrator.” Reese rubbed his mouth. “His uncle was murdered, you say?”
“Yes. Mr. Parker came onto the scene just after his uncle was shot. Witnesses described the killer: closer to forty than thirty, big, long blond hair, scruffy beard and sunglasses. I'm sending you the picture the police artist drew.”
Reese's phone buzzed, and he opened the message Finch sent.
“Don't know him,” said Shaw, and took another bite.
“No. He was probably a transient. Root has not been able to find him anywhere in or near the city.”
“How's the kid take it?”
“He was distraught, by all accounts.”
“Friends?” asked Reese.
“He's pretty much a loner. I can't tell if that's by his own choice or by everybody else's. He started seeing a girl briefly three weeks ago, but he stopped calling her a few days later. There's also a student who seems to have a bit of a crush on him. He's mentioned in several posts to her weblog, including a fight in the schoolyard that was posted on the eleventh of March. Here.”
Reese played a shaky video of a large boy with a crew cut holding a much smaller one upside-down. He was pushing his face into a plate of what looked like spaghetti with tomato sauce. The crowd around them was chanting “Eat it.” at the smaller boy.
“That him? The little one?” asked Shaw.
“No. Wait just a moment.”
The sound from the recording was small and tinny, but they could hear the crew cut boy yell, “Eat your vegetables Gordon, come on! Hey Parker, come on, get a picture of this!” to a boy in the crowd with an old-fashioned camera on a shoulder strap.
“So that's Parker.”
“That's him.”
They watched as Crew Cut—Flash, as it turned out his name was, continued demanding that Parker take a picture of the boy he was humiliating and Parker continued refusing to do it. Then—
“Put him down!” Parker paused. “Eugene!”
The crowd abruptly stopped chanting and gasped. This was obviously the worst thing Peter could have said to the larger boy, and by the look on his face, he knew what was coming. Retaliation was swift as Eugene tossed Gordon aside, punched Parker down twice and kicked him in the side as he tried to get up again.
“I'm still not taking the picture,” he wheezed.
“Aw, look at him!” They could hear Root chirp over the speaker, “He's so cute, like a little baby Reese all sticking up for the defenseless. Only without the fighting skills or the snappy suit.”
“Kid's got guts,” said Reese.
“Kid needs training,” said Shaw.
“Stay down Parker!” Eugene snarled and turned to challenge the crowd. “Who wants one more?!”
The fight—if it could be called that—came to a sudden end as a pretty blonde with her hair pulled back into a neat ponytail stalked forward from the and confronted the raging boy about his poor preparation for their last tutoring session. Eugene and everybody else turned and left shortly after. Parker was struggling to get up when the video clip ended.
“The blonde is Gwen Stacy, the student he became involved with later. Her father was Captain Stacy, so I've asked Detective Fusco to check to see whether any of the men he worked with knows our number.”
“What are we thinking, Harold?” asked Reese.
“Well… We could be looking at another Columbine situation here, but there's nothing in his online presence to suggest it. I'll keep digging, but he doesn't look at all like the type to be planning mass murder.”
“He has motive to go after this Eugene, at least.”
“I don't know… Missy Kallenback—it's her blog—wrote that Parker somehow retaliated against Eugene in the gym some weeks later. She didn't post any video for that, though, just a picture of the aftermath.”
“He retaliated violently?”
“Apparently not. She said that Eugene ruined a project she was working on and wouldn't apologize for it. And then...” Finch's voice trailed off. “'Ha-ha! Pete made Flash look like a total feeb.' He also broke the basketball backboard somehow. There's a picture of that. The general consensus is that he probably sabotaged it, but the school dropped the subject because his uncle was murdered that night.”
“Does Missy mention any other interactions?”
“Two more. There was a brief confrontation the next day. Mr. Parker pushed him up against some lockers, but then left after he said something to him. And then the next week Eugene gave Mr. Parker a black eye, but Ms Kallenback only heard about it second hand and she doesn't know why he did it. There may not even be a reason. She thinks he has an anger management problem. I'm inclined to agree.”
Shaw shook her head. “So Parker could be tired of Eugene's shit.”
Reese frowned. “Or Eugene could be the danger. I'd put him on the 'possible' list.”
“Already done.” Finch sighed. “Mr. Parker's such an easy target. It could also be that he has annoyed a worse bully or that he's attracted another predator.”
“Another predator, Finch?”
“Yes… that was in the other file Fusco sent. When our number was twelve, a much older boy he used to be friends with attempted to molest him. He told his aunt and uncle. They reported the incident right away, and the boy was arrested. He and his mother left the state before the court appearance was scheduled.”
“Where is he now?” Shaw looked as if she were contemplating homicide.
“Unknown.”
“Did Peter get any counseling after that?” asked Reese.
“There's no record of it. The fact that he spoke up immediately and was listened to suggests that he was brought up in a supportive environment, though it has obviously become more precarious of late.”
“Wow, this guy's life sucks, doesn't it? No family, no friends, no money, broke up with his girlfriend, and can't fight his way out of a paper bag.” Gen said over the speaker. “Does he have anything going for him besides guts and being kind of cute?”
“Brains,” Finch replied. “His IQ tested very high, and he's on the Honors List. Up until his uncle was killed, he was first in his class in maths and all the sciences except biology—he was second there, near the top in English and history… the only class he did poorly in is gym. His grades haven't recovered yet, but he's still a likely candidate to receive some kind of scholarship if he chooses to go to university.”
Reese smirked. “Yeah, that'd make him popular, all right. And look at the way he deliberately antagonized a bigger kid to draw him away from a little one. That may suggest a hero complex. He didn't call for a teacher either. Maybe he'll grow up to be a wealthy vigilante. Are you feeling paternal at all, Harold?”
“I really don't know what you mean, Mr. Reese.”
Shaw ignored their byplay. “Maybe he did it to impress a girl.”
“If so, the relationship didn't last.”
“There he goes,” said Shaw. She and Reese watched as a gangly boy in jeans and a hoodie came out of the house. “Huh. No cell phone signal. Root, I'm going to need you keep on him with the traffic cams.”
“Anything for you, Sweetie-pie.”
The boy flopped his skateboard down on the street and rocketed away on it. Shaw got out of the Sonata before he reached the corner and followed him on her bicycle.
“Finch?” said Reese.
“Yes?”
“A gray Chevy Tahoe just took off after our number, license GAX-4555. Looks like just a driver.”
“Just a moment… Hmm… That number is registered to a white Dodge Caravan. We've notified Shaw to look out for it.”
“Right. On to the housebreaking part of my job.”
“What do you think, Mr. Reese?”
It's a nice little place. Clutter, bills… They are having a hard time keeping up.” He moved to the return air vent and unscrewed the face plate and reached up to place the camera. “Well, this is interesting. How long did you say they lived here?”
“Ben and May Parker bought the house about thirty years ago. Why?”
“We are not the first people to have the Parkers under surveillance.”
“Oh. Let me take a look at it, Mr. Reese.”
He snapped some pictures and sent them.
“Interesting… These were state of the art ten years ago.”
“About the time Peter's parents were killed?”
“Yes, yes that fits. Battery run… Judging by all the dust on them, I would wager they haven't worked for a long time. Take them out when you put ours in, if you will. I'll run the serial numbers and see what I can find.”
“Will do.”
“Shit! He's a fast little bugger. I knew I should have taken the motorcycle. Where is he, Root?”
“Sorry, I lost him. He ducked under some trees. Looks like the Tahoe lost him too. Switching over to follow them. They're two blocks ahead of you and one to your right.”
“OK,” said Shaw “Tracking them now. Root? I may have to drop-and-pick up after I acquire them. Ready?”
“I've got you. Turn left at the next cross-street. Where are they… OK, it looks like they're changing route toward his school.”
“Well,” said Reese. “Our boy sure is popular again all of a sudden.”
“So either the people that were monitoring him ten years ago are back, or some other bunch is following him around. I don't know which is worse. Check his room next, Mr. Reese.”
Shaw stopped at the intersection up the street from Midtown High. “Found him yet, Finch? Root?”
“Sorry Darlin'. He's still not showing up on the traffic cams.”
“And he still hasn't turned his phone on, Ms Shaw. We won't be able to locate the GPS until he does. We may not be able to pick him up again until he's in range of the school CCTV, which is decidedly not adequate.”
“Ah! There he is.” said Root. “He's at the park down the street from the school. There's no way he's going to be on time now.”
“Hm,” said Finch. “I suppose it's possible he stayed under tree cover the whole way there…”
“OK. If this is going to be a thing with him, we'll need someone on the inside.” Shaw sounded annoyed.
“At the very least. I'll look into it”
Gen's voice broke in. “I have an idea...”
“No! We have no idea of what you'd be getting into!”
“Come on, Harold!” Root said, “Gen is perfect. She's the same age as the new number. He's a teenage boy, she's a pretty girl… Do the math.”
“Ms. Groves!”
“Oh, come on. It wouldn't be my first time in the field,” Gen said.
“No, only the second.”
“You've got to take the training wheels off sometime, Finch,” said Shaw.
“Relax, Mr. Finch,” Gen said, “We have the weekend to solve this. Whatever this is might pop by Monday.”
“Lets hope so.”
“How's it going, Mr Reese?”
“This kid's lock is something else. I don't have the tools to get in without breaking it or kicking the door down. I'm going to check the rest of the house and then try the window.”
“We may have to come back and try a— Oh, dear. John, a neighbor must have seen you breaking in. She's called the police. They're on the way.”
“Time to leave.” Reese went down the stairs again, but as he turned at the bottom toward the kitchen door, he nearly collided with another man dressed in black. “Hello,” Reese said softly. “I don't think you belong here.”
The short-haired blond was holding a pistol in his right hand and a black canvas bag in his left He raised his weapon to Reese's face in a split second. His steel-hued eyes flew over Reese, hard and assessing. “Who sent you?”
Reese grinned like a wolf. “I'll show you mine if you show me yours.”
“What's going on, Mr. Reese?”
“Hands up. Turn around. Go to the basement.” The blond gestured toward the door under the stairs.
“Can't we just talk?”
“Get in there.”
The man got off one shot as Reese came to the basement door, but Reese had already guessed it was coming and had leaned back to avoid it. He didn't get a chance to fire another. Reese slapped his left hand down on the man's right wrist and twisted it counter-clockwise to make him drop his weapon, while simultaneously pulling him forward into a punch to the base of the throat with his other hand and then a swift kick to the knee. He finished the pull by throwing the man to the floor in front of the walkway to the kitchen.
Unfortunately, the man was not alone.
One of his partners fired at Reese through the kitchen from the back door, and then the other joined him. They missed, but Reese was pinned down while the man he had fought staggered up to join his buddies, leaving his bag. By the time Reese got outside, the three were down the street and piling into a dark green sedan driven by a fourth man.
“You following them, Root?”
“Oh yes. Got pictures too.”
“John, the police are almost there. You should go.”
“No, I think I'll stay.” Reese smirked. “I have a job for them.” He retrieved the bag his opponent had dropped, put it down on the front porch and sat next to it. He didn't have long to wait before the patrol car showed up.
“Hands in the air!”
Reese complied with his badge held in his right hand.
“You a cop?”
“Riley, Homicide, 8th Precinct.”
“You're a little out of your neighborhood aren't you?” The patrolman holstered his gun, and Reese lowered his hands.
“Had a tip a guy I was interested in talking to about a cold case was seen around here. Officer…?”
“Lewis. Carl Lewis. How cold is this case?”
“Eleven years.”
“The tip pan out?”
Reese grinned. “No, but I saw a break-and-enter and three guys shot at me not 10 minutes ago, so I must be doing something right.”
“Three? You got a look at the perps?”
“Saw one guy real well; we should get a sketch of him out ASAP. Got a glance at two more, and didn't see the driver at all. At least three of the guys were armed and they didn't hesitate to shoot. I counted maybe twelve shots. You'll find slugs in the walls and furniture; all but one fired into the living room from the back door. First guy had a .45 cal. automatic, looks like maybe an HK. It's still on the living room floor in there. He ran away after I made him drop it. His slug should be low on the wall near the front door. Driver had a dark green Chevy Cavalier, license FYP 2503.”
The cop shook his head. “We'll put out the APB. Animals. You know it's only a widow lady and a kid who live here, right? The man of the house was killed last month, and now I've got to tell his missus she almost got robbed too. It's lucky you were here. Say, any of them look like this guy?” He showed a picture of the man who killed Ben Parker on his cell.
“No, definitely not.” Reese shook his head. “Not unless he's the driver. Who is he? He looks too scruffy to be with the guys I just met.”
“He killed Mr. Parker.”
“Probably not related. I bet some gang saw the obit and thought, 'Hey, easy pickings.' They might try again. Maybe some extra patrols, let everyone know you're looking out for them…?”
“Wouldn't hurt. Maybe we can do it for at least a few days.” He looked up. “Hey, Jan. Jan here's the sketch artist. You ready?”
“The sooner the better.”
Reese moved the bag. Jan sat down next to him, opened her pad and picked up a charcoal stick. “OK, lets start with the first guy,” she said.
“Shooter one: square-ish face, a little wider at the jaws than the temples… Square chin, a little sharper angle at the jaw. Good. Hairline is high and straight. Clean-shaven. Hair is dark blond in a buzz cut. Eyes are small-ish and gray. Eyebrows drop down a little lower near the nose…”
Describing the intruders kept him busy for the next half hour.
“Well, fellas, I better be getting back home.”
“Thanks for the assist.”
“Anytime.”
He picked up the bag and went to his car. “What's the news, people?”
“He arrived at school ten minutes after his first class started,” said Shaw, “He was set to be there half an hour early the last I saw him, so where the hell was he for all that time?”
“I'll see that forty minutes and raise you three violent pros doing a home invasion and a getaway driver in a fast car,” said Reese. “Speaking of, where are they?”
“I followed them to a dead zone near the harbor.” He could hear Root's pout. “They've probably bailed on the car and left it there.”
“Hm. Too bad,” said Reese. “It's looking more and more like our number is a victim.”
“We can't be absolutely sure without knowing the motives of the people watching him,” said Finch, “but that does seem most likely.”
“I took a look in the bag while I was waiting at a stop light. Mics and cameras, the same brands I just put in. Looks like he was just scouting. This time, anyway.”
“Interesting, if not terribly informative.”
“Their trigger fingers are a bit too itchy for my taste, Harold.”
17 May (Friday) 17:22
NYPD 8th Precinct, New York City
Asset: Reese, John
NYPD, Detective, Homicide: Fusco, Lionel
Fusco looked up from the papers on his desk. “Hey 'partner'. Where you been all day? The Captain's wondering if you actually work here. She asked if you want to transfer over to Queens. What's in the bag?”
“Lionel. Finch tells me our new number has lead an exciting life.” Reese opened the bag for Fusco to look in.
“Yeah, if by 'exciting' you mean 'sad'.” He shook his head as he looked over Reese's spoils. “What the hell has this kid got himself into everybody wants to spy on him?”
“That's the question, isn't it. So, sad. Parents dead, a 'friend' attacks him, uncle dead, and now armed 'burglars' at his home.”
Fusco looked at him sharply and leaned forward. “No way was this stuff for a burglary.”
Reese's lips twisted in a wry smile. “It'll do for now. Got anything else?”
“Not in any reports, but I heard a rumor, see?”
Reese raised his eyebrows and made an 'I'm listening' face.
“Got this from Weems over at the 19th when I was checking out the Parker kid. Guess who was over at his precinct house with his hair on fire telling Captain Stacy about some lab jockey turning himself into a giant lizard. The one on the bridge.”
Reese raised both eyebrows.
“Yeah, it's our boy. 'Course Stacy starts looking into it 'cause he's a good cop. Careful. But he don't really believe him. He don't wanna believe him; the kid's just his daughter's punk boyfriend, see, and Connors is her mentor. So he kicks the kid out. Nobody's laughing the next day though…” Fusco shrugs.
“And nobody followed up on this?”
Fusco looked thoughtful. “Not that I heard. Stacy died. Connors is in stir and everybody has their hands full.”
“You hear that Finch?” murmured Reese
“This is very interesting. Yes, I think the two of you need to discuss this with him as soon as possible.”
“We'll head over to the Parker's tomorrow morning and see what we can come up with.” He picked up the bag. “And now I'm going to take this down to forensics and see if they can lift any prints we can use off it."