The Lengths That I Would Go To

[abrightboy]

The killer was moving around the country. Malcolm Bright could see the pattern, but he wasn't working for the FBI these days and they weren't exactly taking his calls. Short sighted of them, but they did fire him on suspicion of being crazy. The NYPD's jurisdiction was New York. With the killer beyond its borders, they handed it upwards and left it at that.

Let it go, Bright, had been Gil's sage advice. You can't catch every killer in America single-handedly.

Challenge accepted, some part of him retorted, though he'd only nodded mutely and forced a smile. Gil knew he hadn't simply let it go, but he wasn't going to have him followed to stop him doing anything stupid, either. He didn't have the will or the resources to keep tabs on Malcolm Bright 24/7 and Malcolm Bright knew it.

His mother, on the other hand, had extensive resources, so he simply didn't tell her he was leaving town. He did arrange for Ainsley to feed his bird, so the truth would come out eventually, but he'd be several states away by then.

He rode the bus. There was something oddly comforting about the anonymity of being in a crowd of strangers who had no interest in him whatsoever. He stared out the window and watched the country go by. When he stepped off the Greyhound in Lexington, Kentucky, he walked to a nearby hotel and checked in, then headed straight to the US Marshals office. There was no point in trying to talk to the FBI. If he was going to stop a killer from killing again, he needed someone in law enforcement to listen to him. The pattern suggested the next murder would happen in one of the rural communities around Lexington and it would be precipitated by a young woman's disappearance. He needed law enforcement with local knowledge, specifically.

He wandered into the Marshals' offices in a tidy three piece suit, charcoal grey with a burgundy tie perfectly knotted at his collar. He got a few suspicious sidelong glances but nobody asked if they could help him. He cleared his throat.

"Um, hello? I'm wondering if there's anyone here I can talk to about murder." He held up his hands. "Stopping murder, specifically, not... like... smalltalk."

Comments

[tinstar]

Raylan gave a long suffering sigh, adjusted his hat before shaking his head at the both of them; Art gave Malcolm a smirk before rolling himself out of the car along with his long legged deputy.

Raylan adjusted his baseball cap and unlatched the gate that led them to the front door and knocked, glancing appricencivly at his company.

A rough, large, tattooed man answered the door. "Yeah, what do you want?"

Art flashed his badge. "US Marshals - We're looking for Robert Quarles. You seen him?"

[abrightboy]

Malcolm, unarmed, was at least polite enough to stay behind the Marshalls. When the man opened the door, he watched his face for microexpressions: stress responses...fear responses.

And he saw both.

"Ain't seen 'im," the man said, preparing to shut the door.

"Yes you have," Malcolm countered with certainty from behind Raylan's elbow. "Recently. Today?" He considered the man's face. "No. Yesterday? Yes. Yesterday. And he frightened you. You're scared he'll come back."

"I ain't fuckin' scared of him or anyone else, pipsqueak," he spat, making to take a step towards Malcolm.

[tinstar]

Raylan stopped the man from getting more than a half step from his door with a firm palm on his chest and a dangerous look from under his eyebrows, despite the easy smile on his face. "Let's.. not get ahead of ourselves," he said, shoving the man back into his home. "We're just here to get some information, that's all," he said, casual smile oozing soft southern reassurance.

There was no way Raylan was going to let some ignorant ass step outta line and hit their consultant; the paperwork would be crazy.

The guy didn't seem to appreciate the shove, but if he was going to make more of it was yet to be seen.

"Like I said - I ain't seen him."

Raylan raised his eyebrows. "Then you won't mind us taking a brief look around," he half questioned, inviting himself in with a manner not meant to be argued with, despite the sputterings of the man that he brushed past.

They wouldn't find anything, not here, but Raylan wasn't going to be slacking.

[abrightboy]

Sticking close to Raylan, Malcolm continued asking questions conversationally.

"What did he want? Supplies? A place to crash?" Malcolm considered his facial response to that and followed the question up with "How many nights did he stay here?"

[tinstar]

It was Art's turn to take in the weird bluntness of the well dressed New Yorker, and the seemingly fearless way that he eyed their guy with his questions, as the older man followed in behind to put one hand on the guy's arm as he started to try and join Raylan on his search.

"He didn't," the guy protested just as firmly as he had before. Dude glanced at Art and then at Raylan who was pushing a back bedroom door open with three spread fingertips before looking over at him. "No? Huh. Not a lotta people get away with telling Robert Quarles No. Not without getting a little scrap or blood on 'em," Raylan reasoned, ambling his slow walk back towards the group. "Looks far too pretty in here for you to have said no to Everything..."

Raylan glanced down with a slight spread of his smile. "Hows about you tell us what you said yes to and we don't get a warrent to turn this place upside down, hmm? We'll take what you know and go, no trouble asked."

[abrightboy]

The man looked at Raylan, some stubbornness remaining in his face but a twitch of uncertainty in his expression and the way he shifted his weight.

"It's more than that," Malcolm interjected. "Your stress responses are through the roof. You saw something or he told you something and whatever it was, it freaked you out."

The man turned and grabbed Malcolm's neatly pressed lapel. Malcolm held up one hand towards Raylan, who he was sure would intervene, and one towards the man now giving serious consideration to assaulting him.

"I think I was pretty clear about you shuttin' your mouth or gettin' it shut for you," he burly thug said.

"You were pretty clearly lashing out to protect yourself, definitely," Malcolm allowed, "and you're also pretty clearly a hardened criminal type. So what could he have said or done that would have freaked out someone like you?" he pointed out, holding the man's gaze.

He looked about to snarl but then, suddenly, released Malcolm and turned around, running a hand through his hair, before turning to the Marshals.

"I'm no fuckin' snitch," he said firmly, but his resolve was gone. He took a breath. "But a couple nights ago, I came in late. He was sitting on the couch over there with his laptop, jerkin' off, except when he jumped up to put his dick away, I saw the screen. It wasn't some chick with big titties givin' someone a blow job or somethin'. It was a guy stranglin' a kid. Couldn't've been more than ten. I didn't look close enough to see what else was goin' on. I told him I wanted him gone by morning and left the room. When I got up, he wasn't here no more. I don't know where he went, but he said the first day he was here that there was someone in the city he wanted to visit for a long time, someone who could give him good advice, but he didn't know how he could go see him because the guy's in prison. That's all I know."

[tinstar]

Malcolm was not wrong. As soon as the thugged grabbed Malcolm, Raylan had a hand back on the man's chest, his free hand on his gun and a dangerous glint in his eye without a thought. He didn't apply force, but only because of Malcolm's hand. It wasn't enough to totally stop Raylan, but it was enough to stop him from jacking this man against the wall.

But if the man was going to step off himself, Raylan would let him move freely without objection and half step in between them. His hand wasn't coming off his gun until he was comfortable.

"Who? He hadt've said a name." Even if the guy didn't tell them, Raylan knew their resources could come up with a reasonable list inside 3 or so hours. The guy shook his head. "Not even under his breath in passing? Sounds like he was pretty amped up."

Needless to say, Raylan did not believe that.

[abrightboy]

The man glanced at Malcolm, almost like he was checking in with the mind reading powers, but Malcolm just looked at him expectantly.

The man shook his head again. "He was real secretive about it. I don't know why it was such a big deal; we all have friends in the slammer. But he did say that he never met the guy in person before. He said he wrote him a fan letter and the guy wrote back and they exchanged letters for a while." Again he glanced sidelong at Malcolm, then looked at Raylan. "It was the fan letter part that I thought was weird, because it reminded me of those TV shows where women get engaged to maniac killers while they're in the clink or something."

[tinstar]

Raylan's eyes didn't waver from their target but if he were a cat, one ear would have been tilted back towards Malcolm for his opinion. Silence was acceptance, in this case.

"If this leads to a dead end, you're gonna be our first stop," Raylan promised. "Where else would he have gone for now? What other friends you got in this area that'd take him in?"

The guy listed off three different names, three different streets and Raylan nodded again.

"You remember my promise now," he said, head dipping a little with a nod of his brim.

[abrightboy]

"Thank you for your help," Malcolm told him, with a little wave, as they left. He was somehow tucked between Art and Raylan and missed the sneer in response.

Back in the car, Malcolm leaned between the front seats eagerly.

"Whoever his prison friend is, it's someone he feels safe confiding in. It has to be someone famous enough that their crimes are known. Quarles felt a kinship with him - enough to write a letter to a stranger - so either this person committed crimes against children, or else their crimes are so deranged that they're just as bad. And this person is in prison in New York. Granted it's one of the twisted crime capitals of the world, but that should help narrow it down."

[tinstar]

Sliding into the car, Raylan sat there for a long handful of seconds, doing a thousand yard stare out the window. There were so many things he didn't like, so he focused on the next most prominent step. More fucking driving.

Raylan itched to have Quarles in front of him, for this dog and horse race to be over with so he could go back to workin' on Boyd. But no, Quarles had to go and stick his nose in and lead them all up and down the east coast. Raylan couldn't wait to get a few fingers of whiskey into his hand.

The engine turned over, Raylan tapped the next address in and pulled the car back out onto the road.

"How many prisons you guys got here? Alls I know is Rikers Island and that'll be a hellva search."

[abrightboy]

"There are actually thirteen active prisons in New York City," Malcolm told him. "Riker's Island is probably the most famous, but so are Fulton and the Tombs. But don't forget hospital prisons for the criminally insane." His tone became slightly more subdued. "Claremont tends to host the worst of them, but Bellevue and Elmhurst have their share. If we're looking for someone really sick, we have to look at those too," he said fidgeting a little in his seat and then sitting back.

[tinstar]

"Gonna be up all night, up to my ass in files. Can your precinct get them? Or access to them? I figure we hit up these three places, ask the same kinda questions, see if we come with any different answers."

Art nodded. "He's quickly running outta rat holes to hide in and we'll close these off too. Boy, I tell you what, I cannot wait to get back for dinner though, you see that restaurant on the corner from the precinct?"

Art was kind enough to fill the silence with his daydreams of fried chicken or New York Pizza as they arrived at the second house and as they made their way to the third, only stopping once Raylan put out a hand and pleaded for a little peace. "I ain't eaten all day Art, you're killin' me. If you aren't gonna waste away in the next 40 minutes, we'll get you a steak, stat."

[abrightboy]

"That place on the corner is popular at the precinct," was Malcolm's only contribution to the food conversation. He didn't eat there. He could stomach neither pizza nor fried chicken. Nor steak. The third house was a bust as well, but on the way back, he called Gil about the files.

"We can bring the boxes back to my apartment," Malcolm told Raylan as he hung up the phone. He thought the Marshall might be in the market for two fingers of scotch to go with his steak. "Also, if he sent his first letter through conventional means, the prison would likely have opened it. There might be a record of that."

[tinstar]

"Your apartment certainly got the room, doesn't it. Sure you don't mind?" Raylan briefly met Malcolm's gaze in the review. "We'll need those records too, I guess."

It was going to be a long night.

35 minutes later, they were back in New York and while Raylan was driving, Raylan and Malcolm were the ones technically getting dropped off, back outside the NYPD precinct. Raylan pulled off his ball cap and scratched his head with a sigh, squinting up one side of the street.

"Well, I don't know about you, but I could eat a horse." His head bobbed. "Except I do. How about I go get something to eat and meet you back at your place." It was a question, despite the lack of up-pitch, Raylan's eyes on Malcolm for confirmation. He didn't know how Malcolm felt about having to watch people eat or the smells of it and frankly, it made Raylan uncomfortable. Like he was being impolite - the south had rules and one was that you didn't eat in front of people that weren't eating with you. Or at least not without offering.

It was the only reason that he'd not work while eating.

"Unless you know a place with good soup you like that also serves something.. a bit more substantial?"

[abrightboy]

Malcolm was used to other people eating. They kind of needed to, after all.

"I know a place we can order in," he said. "I've been told the steak dinner is good." He gestured to the precinct. "Can we put the boxes in your car?"

[tinstar]

Raylan glanced up and the building and nodded. He was hungry and so it made the argument easy to get over. With a sight jerk of his head, he started them in.

"Any idea how many of these things we're gonna be hauling?"

[abrightboy]

"Eight. They narrowed it down to eight with prisoners high profile enough that Quarles might have heard of them, but we'll have to weed them out by hand. Also Dani is running down any records of letters from Quarles to inmates at any of the prisons; she'll text me if she gets a name," he said, slipping past Raylan to lead the way deep into the precinct.

[tinstar]

"Great. That's only one dolly. Assuming you guys have even got one." He followed Malcolm further in. "Seems like a pretty tight team Gil's got here. Solid people." The lack of title attached to Dani's name had been noticed - Raylan was no profiler, but he was not deaf.

[abrightboy]

"I.... assume we have one," Malcolm said. "Gil said JT would have the boxes at his desk." He looked over at Raylan at the remark about the team. "It's the best team I've ever worked with," he said sincerely. "But Gil handpicked it." As though that made the reasons obvious.

As they reached Major Crimes, Malcolm led Raylan over to where JT sat next to a pile of boxes, looking nonplussed.

"Hey, JT. Um. Do we have a dolly?"

"Supply closet," JT said, not looking up from his computer. Malcolm lingered, shifting his weight from one leg to the other. JT seemed to feel his gaze and rolled his eyes. "Of course you don't get your own post-it notes," he observed dryly. "Around the corner from Gil's office, on the left."

[tinstar]

Raylan hummed as they stepped into the unflattering light of the precinct, letting his ruminations and assumptions about the lot of them simmer in the back of his head as he watched JT call Malcolm out on his desk supply ignorance, smirking.

He didn't know where Gil's office really was so it was best Malcolm go get it, leaving the cowboy alone in an awkward silence with the Detective who sized him up in a look and a half before disinterestedly looking back at his computer screen.

Raylan wasn't good at small talk and wasn't going to try to strike up a conversation with a guy who looked like he wouldn't be impressed if the second coming came. He was grateful when Malcolm returned; moving boxes onto the dolly was a useful task for idle hands.

[abrightboy]

Once they loaded the boxes into Raylan's car, Malcolm slid into the passenger seat, directing Raylan back through the maze of New York streets to his apartment in SoHo.

Once they got the boxes upstairs, Malcolm called the restaurant and ordered their food, then poured Raylan a glass of scotch while they waited.

[tinstar]

Raylan was glad for the direction - he would have quickly gotten lost and his face reflected his slight discomfort at how narrow and full every street was. He was even more glad to be parked again and doing something that felt significantly less dangerous - lifting.

Once the last box was up, Raylan could finally pull the slightly abused ballcap from his head, scratching his head as he tucked it into his back pocket and flipped the lid off one box. He could hear Malcolm ordering and what, making him smirk a little bit as Malcolm came back with a drink. Raylan arched his eyebrows, smile curling a little more to one side.

"Best thing I've seen all day, thanks. This the stuff you were talking about when you were down in Harlan?"

[abrightboy]

Malcolm nodded and poured himself two fingers as well, tilting his fine crystal tumbler towards Raylan's.

"Cheers," he offered, before taking a sip. He set his glass down and took the lid off a box as well.

"We're looking for someone whose crimes were both horrific and well-publicised," he told Raylan. "Likely someone older than Quarles as he seems to picture this person as a mentor of sorts."

[tinstar]

Raylan lifted his glass before taking a shallow sip and sucking in through his teeth slightly with a sound of approval before nodding and pulling out a stack of files.

"Time to thin the herd." With that, he started and the first file was dropped onto the counter with a wide look and a sigh. "I hate paperwork. I guess we get a stack of old guys, let you start on them while I sort the rest?"

Teamwork made the dream work.