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The idea for this came to me in a dream. Can you believe that? Yup, I dreamed a whole scene from this thing about a year and a half ago. No matter how hard I tried to dismiss it, it would just not let me go. Anyway, this is the result. But before I get to the good stuff, I have to offer thank yous to a number of people. First of all has got to be Melissa and Jo, my wonderful betas. I also have to thank Shirley, because without her this story would never have been finished. I told her about my idea, and that I was thinking about putting it on a shelf and she challenged me to finish it. Being one never to turn down a challenge, here it is. Thank you also to Jim and Amanda for thoughts and helpful suggestions.
Now, on to the story...
Frannie's Lament
by Tanya Reed
Prologue
It was like moving from one cave to another as the dark haired woman left the building and joined the other formless things scattered throughout the narrow passage. The alley was dark and damp after the evening's rain. Shadows deepened in the corners, and a stale, aged smell came from things that she didn't want to see. Fear tingled up her spine and she shivered slightly, clutching her purse in white knuckled fingers. The shiver was partly from chill, she should have known better than to wear this short, form fitting skirt, but mostly it was from the knowledge that they wanted her dead.
Her steps quickened and she huddled in her small jacket, trying to make herself invisible. Inner senses searched for signs of danger. She had been on edge now for so long that it was hard to remember what it was like to relax. It was all right, though. She trusted anxiety; anxiety would keep her safe.
Light glinted from a nearby, cracked window. It illuminated a pretty face framed by brown hair, a face that normally had a healthy tan but was now the color of bleached parchment. She turned her face towards the light for a moment, letting that one dim shaft give her a moment of hope. In that moment, as her footsteps stilled, she heard the footsteps of another. Hope and light forgotten, she began to hurry again. She could hear her high heeled shoes clicking on the broken pavement as they moved faster, and she heard the person behind her pick up his pace. Risking a glance over her shoulder, she saw a cloaked figurs stepping through the small ray of light as she had moments before. The figure was hurrying, its cloak held tightly to its side. Panic gripped her, and all thoughts of caution were forgotten. She began to run. Faster and faster she flew, trying to close the gap between her and freedom. She didn't look back again, all of her attention was on running.
The heels of her shoes made her stumble as they caught in the pitted surface. Several times she came close to falling. The only thing that kept her upright was knowing that if she fell, she would die. Relief rippled through her as she came to the end of the alley. She burst from it into the cold glow of the street lights that shone off of her method of escape.
Quickly, she covered the last few feet to her car, opening her purse and frantically searching for her keys. Stuff flew out as she pulled and discarded it in impatience. An animilistic sound of triumph escaped her when her fingers finally found the keys. Unlocking the car door, she whispered a prayer in Italian. Her thank you to God was her last thought as the world exploded into a wall of fire and a twisted mass of bruning metal.
Ray groaned when the phone by his bed rang. Grumpily, he pulled his pillow over his head and rolled away, trying to ignore it. The noise was persistant, however, the shrill tone seeming to stab into his skull. At about the tenth ring, Ray gave in and reached one long arm across the bed to the bedstand.
"Do y'know what time 'tis?" he mumbled.
"Vecchio, it's Welsh."
This jolted Ray the rest of the way awake. He dug the heel of his hand into his eyes, trying to drive their bleeriness away.
"Sir? What is it?"
"We have a problem."
Ray could hear the reluctance in his voice, and it caused a shiver to dance down his spine.
"A problem?"
"Yes. I need you at the station right away."
The shiver turned into a chill, and Ray's stomach clenched. Was it Fraser? It had to be Fraser. What if Fraser was hurt?
"Be right there."
Ray slammed down the phone and hurried to find some clothes. His mind and his heart were both racing, and he prayed that circumstances weren't as bad as the tone in Welsh's voice had indicated.
As he rushed to the station, awful things filled his mind. Fed on the tone of Lt. Welsh's voice, the pictures were particularly gruesome, and most revolved around Fraser. The streets seemed to fly by as Ray drove even faster than usual to get to the station. He rushed into the bullpen, unconsciously noting the dimmed lightst that characterized the night shift. Huey and Dewey were working quietly, but the rest of the station was devoid of life--except for the light shining from Lt. Welsh's office.
Hearing the door, both Huey and Dewey looked up, their faces paling.
"Ray...Ray, I'm sorry," Jack whispered.
Tom couldn't even look him in the eye. That was all Ray needed to confirm that the news was all bad.
He hurried past them without acknowledgement, not even pausing to knock on the lieutenant's door. As he entered, Welsh and another man turned. A man with spikey blond hair and red rimmed blue eyes. Shit! Kowalski was crying.
"What is it?" Ray demanded. "What happened?"
"There's no easy way to say this. There's been an accident..."Welsh started. Kowalski butt in, "Frannie's dead."
All sensation fled Ray's body as he felt his breath leave him. It was as if someone else were speaking as he gasped, "Frannie?"
Of all the things he had been prepared for, this was not one of them. His sister was supposed to be at her friend Janice's, all safe and asleep. Frannie could not be dead.
A million images tumbled through his mind. He saw Frannie in all the stages of her life--as a baby, as a precocious child, as a wild teenager, as a scatterbrained adult, as the competent civilian aide she'd learned to be when she found out she could depend on herself.
The jumble of thoughts were interupted by Welsh's scratchy voice. Ray realized that he too had been crying. "About two hours ago, your sister's car exploded. Apparently, someone rigged it to explode when the door was opened. The Feds found enough to identify her and her car."
"They're sure..."
Welsh nodded. "It was her, Vecchio."
Suddenly, Ray's legs refused to hold him up. He stumbled to the couch and sat heavily before he fell over. Wide eyed, he looked from Welsh to Kowalski. The two of them looked sad, defeated.
"Are there any leads?"
"No, not yet. The FBI are working on this with the 29th..."
"The 29th?"
"She was found on their turf, and I was told that we had to stay out of it...officially."
"But...But, she's my sister."
Lt. Welsh held up a finger. "I said officially. That doesn't prevent anyone from, say, walking along John's Street to look at the accident site, or from going through his sister's personal effects. That's about the best I can do."
Ray nodded numbly. Another knife stabbed into his gut as he thought of his next chore.
*Oh, God! How am I going to tell Ma?*
(End of Prologue)
One Year Later
Ray Vecchio entered his kitchen early that morning, a yawn distorting his face. He had recently changed out of his pajamas but he still had a rumpled, sleepy look.
Running a hand over his face, he made his way to the coffee maker, reflecting on how quiet the house was. Since Maria and Tony had moved over a month before, the laughter and joy seemed to have seeped out after them. Where once children would have been fighting him for the counter or the bathroom, there was now only empty, lonely space.
A sigh escaped him as he automatically plunked two pieces of bread into the toaster. The thought of the other reason his house was so lifeless came back to haunt him as it had ever day for the past year.
Frannie. Even now, Ray could hardly believe that she was gone. Without her sparkle, his house felt like some sort of discarded Christmas tree.
His chest tightened as his mind went to his days as Armando Languisini. The whole time only three thrings had gotten him through--Fraser's friendship, his Ma's love, and Frannie's smile. He used to stay up nights thinking about them as children, and the memories of some of their pranks were the only things that could make him smile. He had been so homesick then, and all he dreamed about was coming home. When he did come home, it was only for a couple of weeks before taking off to Florida with that witch in angel's clothing. After two months, he was back home again and Frannie had been there to welcome him with open arms and a smile--and no 'I told you sos', which would have been his first words to her. Being away from Frannie had taught him to both miss and appreciate her, and he was not quite through lavishing her with all the love and attention he should have been giving her her whole life when...
An image came into Ray's mind, so strong it overwhelmed him. He cringed as he saw the car explode as he did in his dreams at night. It had taken only a second to extinguish the brightest light in his life.
Ray started eating his toast, though it tasted like gravel and pushed the thought's of his sister's killer still being free from his mind. Behind him, he heard the only other occupant of the house bustle into the kitchen.
"Good morning, Raymundo," she said cheerily, going to the refrigerator.
Ray turned and watched her, the knot in his stomach tightening. "Good morning, Ma."
She turned around smiling, eggs in her hands. "Why such a sad face, Caro? It's a beautiful day. I mean, just look at that sun. And the children are supposed to come over to play today. We're going for a walk in the park. The sun should make you happy...Besides, today could be the day."
Suddenly, Ray felt very tired. Every day it was the same thing. His Ma would get up and tell him that maybe it would be today. For some reason, she just didn't seem to understand that Frannie wasn't coming home. Ever.
"It won't be today, Ma." He took a gulp of his coffee to stop his shaking hands.
"You never know. It might be."
"She's not coming."
"Sure she will, and you'll have to apologize for what you're thinking."
"No." Anger welled up in Ray. He could not stand the denial anymore. "Frannie's not coming home. You have to face it."
"She will come home to us, and she will be happy and brown from the sun or full of facts about the old country. When she comes back from vacation, you will see..."
Unable to deal with his anger and lack of sleep, Ray snapped, "Frannie's not on vacation, Ma, and you know it! Frannie's dead. Dead."
Ma shook her head sadly. "My Frannie is not dead. She is still out there. Somewhere."
Seeing the look on his mother's face, Ray's anger quickly turned to pity. "All right, Ma. I'm sorry. Maybe it will be today. Call me if she comes."
Their argument always ended like this because Ray couldn't stand to break his mother's heart. Feeling awful, but comfortable with the familiarity of the feeling, Ray left the rest of his toast and coffee, strapped on his gun, and left for work.
Both Rays were waiting for him when he arrived at the station. Fraser studied them as he approached their desks. Kowalski was leaned back, doing some sort of balancing act with his chair and chewing a wad of gum like it was cud. Vecchio was slumped over, his head leaning on his left hand, a pencil tapping in his right. They both looked exhausted, with black rings around their eyes and an air of defeat around their bodies. He knew what that must mean--another dead end.
"Good morning, Ray. Ray." He nodded at each of them. Kowalski dropped his chair with a bang, pushing a hand through his unruly hair.
"Mornin', Frase," he answered with forced cheerfulness. "It's been a little slow, so we were pursuing that new lead." He gestured towards Vecchio, who sat up straighter.
Even though Ben could tell the answer, he asked, "Anything?"
"No, nothing. It's as if the guy who killed Frannie doesn't even exist."
"I been tellin' him not to stress it. We'll find him--we've got to," Kowalski informed Fraser, who agreed.
"I'm sure you're right, Ray."
At their words, Vecchio gave a disgusted snort and got up, slamming his chair backwards onto the floor. Kowalski jumped, nearly tumbling from his chair, and Ben winced as the sound jangled along his nerves. Concern made him want to speak soothing words, but he knew nothing he could say would do any good.
"This is crazy. My sister's dead, and her murderer is out there, free as a bird."
Kowalski, used to his partner's frequent outbursts, said softly, "Calm down, man. We're all still angry about the fact that Frannie's case was closed unsolved. Bein' upset ain't going to bring her back."
"Upset? Of course, I'm upset!" He violently punched the filing cabinet beside him, turning his back on his friends. "I must have arrested hundreds of criminals--I went undercover with the mob and survived for Christ's sake--and I can't even find the bastard who murdered my sister!"
Silence followed this declaration as every eye in the busy squadroom turned in his direction. Kowalski glared at the gawkers, forcing them to look away. Ben came forward and gently placed his hand on Vecchio's arm.
"I feel so helpless, Benny."
Fraser nodded in understanding, letting his own helplessness show in his face for a moment. He understood what Ray was going through more than he could put into words. It was almost inconcievable to him that he had been searching for a criminal for almost a year and come up with nothing. The guilt of having failed not only Ray but Francesca weighed heavily on him. She had been a sister to him throughout all the both hard and joyful times he had experienced since moving to Chicago. Her death had ripped a ragged chunck out of his soul, and he would do anything to catch the monster who took her life.
A glint came to Kowalski's eyes, and he said fiercely, "Oh, we'll find him, buddy, and when we do..."
Fraser knew that Kowalski cared for Frannie as much as he did, first as a sister and then as something considerably more. He also knew that Ray had been working up the courage to tell her right before her life was so cruelly cut short. Now, he would never get the chance.
"Vecchio! Kowalski!" came a bellow from the direction of Welsh's office. Vecchio turned and the two Rays shared a look. He did not sound pleased, and all three men wondered what they had done this time.
"A vacation. He wants us to take a vacation!" Vecchio was still complaining when Kowalski's GTO stopped in front of the Consulate a half hour later.
Kowalski, who was driving, grunted in agreement. "He says we're working to hard. Yeah, right. More like he thinks we're harpin' on the Frannie thing."
"How can he forbid us to work on it? Who does he think he is, God?"
"I'm sure if you contemplate his situation, you will see that it must seem to him as if we are spending too much of our working time on a closed case," Ben said from the back seat. "He does have a point."
He said the words, but he didn't believe them. Twenty four hours a day would not be too much time to spend on trying to find his friend's killer.
"I'd like to see his reaction if it was his sister."
"And how would that affect our vacation time?" Kowalski asked.
Ben looked at Vecchio's drawn and tired face. "Maybe he is concerned for our well being." Then he went to get out of the car, hesitating before turning the handle. "Will you be all right, Ray?"
Vecchio waved a hand in an impatient gesture. "Go to work, Benny. Ray and I will go for a coffee or something. I might even pay for his Smarties."
Ben then looked to Kowalski, who gave him a little nod. Satisfied that his friends would be okay, he got out of the car and approached the Consulate. Behind him, he could hear the tires of the GTO squeal as Ray drove away.
The man standing sentry was a young red head with an abundance of freckles. Ben felt a twinge of sadness at seeing him, admitting to himself that he actually missed Turnbull. It had only been a few months since Renfield had left the force to enter politics in his native Nova Scotia, and the Consulate was quiet without him. It was not that this new constable was incompetant. In fact, he was likeable and efficient. He just didn't seem to have the joy of life that Fraser didn't even realize that he admired in Turnbull.
Inside the Consulate, Ben passed his superior officer's door and his sense of sadness deepened. Things were changing and he didn't much like change. One by one, the people he cared about were disappearing form his life, leaving empty spots inside of him. First the Inspector, then Francesca, and now Turnbull. It was as if the heavens were playing some joke on him--now that he had finally given in and opened himself to people, they were being brutally ripped away from him.
As he headed towards his office, a voice stopped him and he turned.
"Benton?"
"Yes, sir?"
Some of Ben's sadness melted away as he regarded Sargeant Frobisher. Not everyone was being stolen from his life. He had the Rays, and he had the man who had been even closer than his own father to guide his footsteps and share his duties. He didn't know why he had been so lucky as to have Buck appointed as head of the Consulate, but he had a feeling Inspector Thatcher had something to do with it. The Sargeant had spoken warmly of a meeting they had before his arrival, though he wouldn't say what was said.
"I need to talk to you a minute. Would you come into my office?"
"Certainly, sir."
He followed Buck inside, closing the door because he knew Dan was off sentry in about five minutes. Buck moved slowly, limping slightly, around the desk to sit down. He waited until Ben had come to rest in front of it, steepling his fingers and looking up with youthful but sharp blue eyes.
"Benton, do you know who Andrew Wilson is?"
Running a thumb over his eyebrow, he answered in puzzlement, "No, I don't believe I do, sir."
"He was a Canadian diplomat--a great Canadian diplomat."
"Was?"
"Yes. He died yesterday."
"Oh, I'm sorry, sir."
"Don't be. I didn't know him." Buck pushed his comment aside. "The important thing is they're looking for Mounties to serve as pall bearers. You have been chosen."
"Me?" Ben could hardly keep his surprise from showing.
"Yes. This is a great honor, Benton."
Fraser nodded, studying his old friend's face and eyes. He saw concern there, though Buck was trying to hide it. Like Welsh, the sargeant must think that they had been working too hard on a closed case.
"When do I leave for Canada, sir?"
"No, not Canada, son. England. Wilson died while visiting our queen."
"England?" This time his surprise did show. "How long will I be there?"
"About a week. Good luck. Dismissed."
"Thank you, sir."
Leaving Buck's office, Ben felt both a sense of relief and a sense of dread. Both feelings were emenating from the same source; on one hand he welcomed the time away from Frannie's case, but on the other he was afraid something would be missed while he was away. He remembered then that his friends were also going to be away from their desks and wondered if this was coincidence. Either way, it was an easy decision to ask for their accompaniment, and maybe together they could finally let Frannie's memory rest in peace.
Ben's first impression of England when they touched down nearly twenty-four hours later was that its airports were insane. The noise had been almost deafening, with people running back and forth like they were in some sort of maze. Vecchio had insisted on navigating through the busy airport, claiming that Kowalski couldn't even find his glasses most of the time. It turned out that his sense of direction wasn't much better as they were lost at least three times before Ben gratefully saw the man in black holding a sign that said "Fraser".
The man turned out to be the chauffeur of someone called Scott Lawrence. Lawrence was a friend of Wilson's and, as such, had volunteered to pick up the Mountie and his companions at the airport. The chauffeur was confident, navigating the same halls they had such trouble with with ease and race. In no time at all, he had them encsonced in the back of his limo, their luggage in the trunk.
As they pulled away from the airport, both Rays looking out on the scenery with curiosity, Ben's thoughts returned to where they had been on the plane. He had had a lot of time to think, with one Ray sleeping and the other playing some sort of hand held computer game. His mind mulled over the last yaear, the shock of Francesca's death and the echoes of it that followed thme every day. Even in the beginning, the leads had been scarce. Still they had followed them one by one, but in the end they came up with nothing. Thier final trail had ended just the day before.
Ben looked at the faces of his friends now as he had on the plane. They needed this vacation--the three of them. He hoped that in the end it would give them a new perspective to conitnue or, if needed, the strength to move on.
As the limo went on, Kowalski's eyes began to glow. Out of one of his pockets came a small guide book, which he had purchased on one of their wrong turns in the airport. Apparently, he had always wanted to tour the United Kingdom because of some movie he had seen as a child. Vecchio listened to him patiently, nodding in all the right places. There was a comfortably relaxed set to his shoulders that he had been lacking for a long time. It seemed like just having new scenery had revitalized him. Leaning back, Ben listened to their voices fondly, trying to give his own mind a rest.
"Hey, look, Vecchio, is that St. Paul's Cathedral?"
"No, I don't think so."
And then a moment later, "Well, that's got to be one of those museums."
"That's a bed and breakfast."
"Oh, and there's the Canadian Con...no, it's not. That's in Trafalgar Square."
Ben opened one eye to see Vecchio lean forward and snatch the guidebook. "Let me see that. Look, you're not even in the right place." He flipped a couple of pages then handed it back before taking a small bag out of his pocket. "It's too bad we couldn't have brought Dief. I know how much he likes in-flight peanuts." He grinned at Ben, showing that he remembered the last plane ride they took together.
"I'm sure he is getting plenty of salt and sugar as it is, Ray."
Kowalski laughed. "I'll bet. Ma and Elaine are probably shoving cookies down his throat right about now."
"And he's enjoying every minute of it," Vecchio said, then a little of the new sparkle went from his eyes. "It was nice of Elaine to offer to stay with Ma."
"She always did take good care a us," This time Kowalksi's cheer was slightly forced. "It's great ta have her back at Division. You need people you can count on."
Ben sighed. "Dief is going to need a strict diet when we get home."
"Oh, leave him alone, Benny." The sparkle was back. "We all need to enjoy ourselves once in awhile." As he said this, their car pulled up to a very large house with an iron gate along the front. All talking stopped for a moment as the three men looked at each other in puzzlement.
"Where're we?"
"This isn't the hostel we were expecting."
"Excuse me, sir. Has there been some mistake?"
The driver turned, his smile friendly. "I'm sorry. I should have mentioned this earlier. You are the last to arrive and the hostel provided is full. Mr. Lawrence has offered the use of his house until after the service."
Vecchio's eyes widened in surprise as he said, "Hey, no arguments from me, buddy. I could stand a little luxury."
They climbed out, impressed when people came out of the house to take their bags. An elderly gentleman followed them, dressed in a brown silk suit and smiling.
"You must be Constable Fraser," he said warmly, offering his hand.
"Yes, sir," Ben answered politely. "And these are my friends Ray Kowalksi and Ray Vecchio."
The man shook their hands as well, continuing, "Pleased to meet you, gentlemen. Come into my home and make yourself comfortable."
As they entered an elegant foyer, Ben heard Vecchio whisper to Kowalski, "You know, this trip might not be so bad after all."
It was on their third day in England that they returned from a morning of prowling fog covered, ancient streets and riding double decker buses to find an unknown car in their host's driveway. It immediately caught the attention of the Rays because it was an American classic. Ben smiled slightly as he saw their faces light up like children on Christmas morning. They eagerly bounded over to it, each taking a side, and gently touched admiring hands to the hood.
"Lookit the lines on that baby."
"Oh, yeah. If I wasn't a Riv man..."
It took several minutes of drooling over the vintage automobile before they were satisfied enough to go in and check out the owner. As they approached the door, a young woman came out. She was very pretty, lithe with long dark hair and laughing green eyes. She smiled at them shyly as she passed and Vecchio turned to watch her departing movements.
As soon as she was out of earshot, he commented, "Now that is one fine looking woman."
"C'mon,Vecchio, she's not your type. You like 'em blond, 'member?"
Vecchio rolled his eyes. "You're never gonna let me forget that, are you? Listen, Stella was a mistake. I know she was a mistake. Can we move on?"
Ben just shook his head patiently as the two RAys descended into a familiar argument. He opened the door for his friends to enter, and then followed them inside. Their friendly bickering stopped when they saw Mr. Lawrence talking to a guest in the foyer. The Americans both smiled in embarassed apology for interupting, and Vecchio said a friendly, "Hi, man. Nice car."
Mr. Lawrence's face broke into a grin and he said heartily, "Hello, gentlemen. Come in and meet my friend, Mario Williams. Marion, these are the men I was telling you about--Ben Fraser, Ray Vecchio, and Ray Kowalski."
"Nice to meet you," Williams said warmly. Ben guessed him to be an American from the southern region of California.
TO BE CONTINUED...