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FIC: Guilty by Association - Charles/Erik, XMFC - (4/??)
Title: Guilty by Association (4/??)
Author: Regann
Pairing: Charles/Erik (XMFC)
Rating: PG-13/R
Word Count: ~5,200 for the chapter (total: 50,000+)
Warnings: discussion of murder, violence and prostitution
Disclaimer: I don't own anything; I just play with them.
Notes: Everything I know about law enforcement and investigative journalism, I learned from watching television. Don't expect any more realism here than you'd find on an episode of CSI or L&O. There is also State of Play influence in this fic as well, although you don't need to have seen it to understand anything in this fic.
Summary: While investigating the homicide of a John Doe who he suspects might've been murdered while working the streets as a prostitute, Detective Erik Lehnsherr finds an unexpected ally in a hooker named Charles who seems as determined as he to solve the case. As they become more deeply involved both with the case and each other, there's just one thing that Charles neglects to mention -- that he's really an investigative journalist, one quickly convinced that what they're dealing with is more than simple murder. cop!Erik, fake-hooker-slash-reporter!Charles, Modern AU.
Previous Parts available at LJ, DW and AO3.
Guilty by Association (Part 4)
Emma wasn't exactly thrilled when Erik finally showed up in her office after half a morning of evasion, but Darwin had laid some good groundwork to explain his late arrival because she was only mildly annoyed instead of well and truly pissed. Darwin had also made sure that coffee and aspirin were waiting for Erik at his desk and he turned it over with minimal mockery, again proving to Erik that the best thing he'd ever done for himself was taking Darwin on as his partner when he'd first made detective.
"I wanted an update on the John Doe -- two hours ago," Frost snapped when he asked about why she'd been looking for him. "Muñoz was able to give me a general idea but I really wanted to hear it from you, Lehnsherr. You are the lead detective on it."
"I got distracted following up some leads," Erik lied smoothly, without even a hint of remorse. It was probably the first thing he'd done that morning that hadn't hit him with some. "But if you want to hear it again, I'll tell you what Darwin did: we're still trying to figure out who he is and we're taking a second look at the forensics because right now there's nothing to go on."
"There's never nothing," she retorted. "There's always something and I'm expecting you to find it and quickly. I'd like to get this case and the Tabram one off our plates as soon as possible."
"Wouldn't we all?" Erik deadpanned. He shook his head, both in confusion and to help clear out some of the post-hangover fuzziness. "I'm just wondering what's suddenly made this case different than all the other ones I've worked in the past five years?"
Erik had asked mostly on instinct, picking up on some barely-discernable tension that had his normally icy-veined captain vibrating in her desk chair, but he knew he was onto something when she visibly started at his question.
Frost glared at him, leaning forward a little to look as menacing as possible. It might've worked on Darwin or some of the other rookies, but Erik was largely immune after their half-decade together. "It's not, which means I need you doing your job to the best of your ability as quickly as possible because while you're dicking around trying to figure out who's murdering prostitutes in the Bronx, people are still killing each other all over the place. Those murders need to be solved too."
When the phone on her desk began to ring, they both glared at it.
"Get out," she ordered. "I have to take this call."
He stood up to leave but not without a parting shot. "I'm doing the best I can," he told her. "You think someone else could do it better, you send them my way." When he looked back after he'd stepped out of her office, she was still giving him that same dark look and he barely resisted the urge to flip her off.
"That good, huh?" Darwin asked when Erik reached the desk where his partner was waiting and Darwin got the effect of his glower.
"She's just flexing her claws, although I don't know why," Erik replied. He leaned against the desks and crossed his arms. "She's right about one thing, though. We need some traction on this case and fast."
"There's nothing new from Hank or from forensics yet," Darwin informed him. "I checked this morning."
Erik sighed and sank down into his chair, eyes roaming over the stacks of files on his desk. "Let's just run through this again, maybe something will hit us."
"Sure thing," Darwin said, pulling up something on his computer with a few key strokes. "Okay, so the call came in around 3AM when our friends Penhall and Hanson see the vic in the alley on a routine sweep."
"No witnesses."
"Right."
"No noises, no neighbors hearing or seeing anything?"
"Not that would admit it to a cop," Darwin answered.
"Yeah." Erik sighed again. "What's next?"
"Penhall calls it in, Azazello takes it. He's next on the scene."
"Huh." Azazello was far from Erik's favorite person on the force but there was a chance that the detective had seen something on the scene when he'd responded that had been gone by the time Erik had arrived amid swarming uniforms and a team of CSU technicians. "I should've probably talked to him before now."
Darwin shrugged. "Maybe but I have my doubts that he could find his way out of a paper bag."
Erik bit back the grin he wanted to let loose at Darwin's comment. Instead he scanned the bullpen until his gaze found Azazello across the room, talking to a uniform he didn't recognize. "Hey, Azazello!" he shouted. "Got a minute?"
The other detective didn't look overjoyed at the prospect but he nodded his agreement then turned to finish his conversation with the other officer. While he waited, Erik thumbed through his text messages and even checked his extension's voicemail. Finally, Azazello made his over to Erik's desk. "You want something, Lehnsherr?" he asked, his Russian accent far more pronounced than the faint strains of mother tongue still left in Erik's.
"Just wanted to ask you a few questions about that John Doe case," Erik said.
Azazello shrugged. "Frost gave it to you, so what about it?"
"You were the first detective on the scene," Darwin pointed out. "We were hoping you saw something that we might've missed later."
Azazello shrugged again. "There wasn't much to see. Dead hooker in an alley. Not the first, probably not the last."
"We don't know what he was because we don't even know who he is," Erik told him with a dark look. "So I'd appreciate it if you'd spare a moment to actually think about the damn question we're asking you."
Azazello returned the Erik's obvious irritation with some of his own. "Look, there wasn't anything to see. Dead h---guy, stab wounds, a few blocks from that last one, I called Frost and she said to bump it to you guys. I was barely there five minutes before McCoy showed up."
"Really?" Erik narrowed his eyes. "You noticed nothing of importance?"
Azazello rolled his eyes and leaned in, lowering his voice for Erik and Darwin's ears only. "Look, Lehnsherr, just because you've got a soft spot for hookers or whatever doesn't mean the rest of us are wasting our time with them."
For a ridiculous, heart-stopping second Erik thought Azazello had somehow found out by the interesting night he'd had with Charles before he realized the other detective was just an arrogant asshole. "Nobody deserves to be gutted and left in an alley, Azazello. Our job is to find the bastard that did that, not turn our backs on the vic because maybe he did something you didn't like."
Azazello straightened up. "Sorry I couldn't be more help," he said, not even trying to hide his sarcasm. "But I've got my own cases to handle."
As soon as he'd walked away, Darwin made a disgusted noise in the back of his throat. "Like I said, he couldn't detect his way out of a paper bag."
"It was worth a try," Erik said, although he agreed with Darwin. "Anyone else we can shake down in case we've missed something?"
"Not that I can think of, but I got an email while Azazello was over here. It's from McCoy and one of the CSU guys," Darwin revealed. "They've spotted another difference between Tabram and our John Doe. Forensics says Tabram bled out at the scene but there's no evidence of it for the John Doe."
"So he was probably dumped there instead of stabbed there?" Erik asked.
Darwin nodded. "That's what McCoy is supposing. Given the stab wounds, there would've been blood spatter if he'd been attacked there."
"Which makes me wonder if this is actually a possible serial or if it's a copycat," Erik told him.
"We still need to know more," Darwin said.
"Yeah, we do." Erik stood up and motioned for Darwin to do the same. "Let's go."
"Where to?" Darwin wanted to know, even as he grabbed his coat and followed.
"Might as well give the neighborhood another try in case someone has decided catching a murder is worth the risk of being seen cooperating with the police."
"You really are an optimist, aren't you?" Darwin said, grinning at the startled look Erik gave him.
"Shut up and let's go," Erik told him. "We need to swing by and pick up my car on the way."
They pounded the pavement for several hours, but no one who might've heard anything the night of the murder was changing their story from the party line that no one heard or saw anything. Erik supposed that the murderer could've managed to dump the body without anyone seeing, but it felt like a stretch, even if it had happened between midnight and 2AM.
His day had been frustrating but it had been busy, which had kept Erik from dwelling too much on the angst from the morning and Erik had been grateful for the distraction. As he drove home, though, Erik knew that the silence and emptiness waiting for him at his apartment would mean that he'd have nothing better to do than to think the stupid stunt he'd pulled the night before.
What he hadn't expected was to find Charles actually waiting by his door.
It was apparent that he'd been loitering there awhile by the way Charles winced ever so slightly as he straightened up from his lean against the wall. "I was wondering if I'd have to try again tomorrow," Charles said, smiling a little tentatively as he met Erik's shocked gaze.
"My job isn't exactly known for regular hours," Erik heard himself say.
Charles let out a huff of laughter. "Neither is mine."
Despite being fully aware of how stupid he'd been the night before, Erik couldn't deny that the attraction was still there. Charles was again dressed in slacks and a button-down shirt, though the first two buttons were undone, revealing a line of pale skin and the faintest hint of a reddish mark that Erik was pretty sure he'd left the night before. "What are you doing here?" he finally managed to ask past the lump in his throat.
"I was hoping to talk to you," Charles said. "May I come in?"
Erik didn't really think it was the best idea he'd ever had, but he nodded anyway, blaming his weakness on the imploring way Charles watched him unlock the door with his big blue eyes. "Fine, come in."
He dropped his keys on the table by the door as he walked in, waiting until Charles took a few steps into his living room to close the front door behind him. Erik watched Charles look around the living room for a minute or two before he finally asked, "What did you want to talk to me about?"
Charles turned to face him, coat tucked under his arm. "I think we've gotten ourselves on the wrong foot and I wanted to straighten it out."
"There's really nothing to straighten out."
"Yes, there is," Charles insisted. "I need you to...Erik, please." Charles's gaze was still imploring and hard to resist. "I just wanted to make it clear that last night -- it wasn't about my job or yours, all right? I came home with you because I wanted to. That's all there was to it."
Erik tried to let himself feel better at Charles's declaration but it didn't really relieve his guilt the way it should've. "That's good to know, Charles, now..."
"And you were right the other night," Charles continued as if Erik hadn't tried to speak. "Well, not really but you weren't far off."
"What are you talking about?" Erik asked.
"You said you thought I knew more than I was saying about that murder," Charles explained. "I didn't, not really, but I was hoping to learn more."
"You were out asking questions, too," Erik realized.
Charles nodded. "I wanted to see if anyone knew anything."
Erik couldn't ignore how uneasy the thought made him, that Charles was out there putting himself in more danger when there seemed to be a killer out on the street preying on pretty available boys. "That's not a good idea," he told him. "You could draw attention you don't need."
"No more than you, walking the street with your gun and your badge," Charles shot back. "That's actually why I'm here, Erik. I want to help you."
"With what, the investigation?" At Charles's slight nod, Erik shook his head. "No. Hell no."
"Just listen to me for a moment," Charles said, gaze narrowing at Erik's immediate denial. "You need my help."
"No, I don't," Erik told him.
"The police have it all figured out, then?" Erik's expression must've betrayed the answer Charles was looking for because he smiled, triumphant. "Don't kid yourself -- you do need my help. I have resources that you'll never have access to as a cop. And I'm not even talking about illegal things. Just...there are people who will talk to me that will never talk to you. You know that."
Erik did know. He'd spent a frustrating afternoon dealing with just that problem, facing the unpleasant reality that many of the people they were sworn to protect would rather protect themselves from cops than help them catch a killer. Erik remembered his mother's own lingering issues with the police, left over from her years of oppression in East Germany and, once he'd decided to pursue law enforcement, he'd always promised himself that he would be the cop that prove all that fear wrong.
Erik also knew that if there was anything he could do stupider than bringing home a prostitute, it would be letting that same prostitute help him with the investigation.
"You seemed vaguely concerned about my safety a minute ago," Charles observed. "I'm not going to stop looking into this, so if you tell me no, I'll just be doing it alone. Wouldn't it be safer for everyone if we did this together?"
It was a cheap shot, but Erik couldn't deny its effectiveness as he tried to ignore the images the thought the conjured up of Charles dead in some alley just like Tabram or John Doe. He knew he'd probably regret it, even as he nodded his agreement. "Fine," he said, adding when Charles favored him with a wide grin. "But you bring anything to me, all right? Don't go investigating alone."
Charles's smile turned a little soft around the edges, as had his eyes. "I wouldn't dream of doing anything without you, Erik." His voice was soft and he leaned in just a little, until they were almost touching, drawing Erik's attention to the fact that they'd already been standing far closer than necessary for a simple conversation.
Catching the look Charles was giving him from beneath his lashes, Erik knew he needed to get him out of his apartment quick before he did another stupid thing, like drag him off to bed and offer to pay double his rate if he stayed the night again. Instead, he stepped back and reached into his coat pocket for a card. "Call me if you find anything," he said. "My cell number is on here."
"All right," Charles agreed. Their fingers brushed as he took the proffered card and Erik tried to ignore the fact that it was accidentally-on-purpose.
He stalked over to the front door and held it open. "Good night, Charles."
Charles gave him a look like he knew exactly why he was pushing him out the door and didn't agree with it one bit. "Don't you want me to return the favor?" he asked, as he stepped up in Erik's space once again.
"What do you mean?"
In lieu of answering, Charles slid his hand over Erik's chest which he was about to protest until he realized that Charles did so in order to free a pen from the breast pocket of his jacket. He clicked the pen a few times, then reached for the hand Erik wasn't using to hold the door open. "I prefer text," Charles informed him as he wrote out a number on the palm of Erik's hand. "But don't hesitate to reach out if you decide you need me."
It wasn't until after Erik had all but shoved Charles out of his apartment and slammed the door behind him that he realized Charles had kept his pen.
**
Charles knew he should've probably felt a little more guilty about the charade he'd decided put on for Detective Lehnsherr, but he had enough good excuses to keep them at bay. First, there was the fact that he wasn't even lying -- it was Erik who had decided Charles was a hooker, not Charles. He was just choosing not to disabuse the detective of his wrong conclusion. Second, there was his story, which wouldn't be served by Erik knowing the truth. As reluctant as Erik was to accept help and share information with a sex worker, he would've been immediately put off by Charles's real occupation. The police tended to see reporters as the enemy and, Charles knew, the reverse was often true as well. Introducing the truth between them would probably sever any future contact they might have.
His third reason was that for reasons far more personal than his current story, Charles did not like the idea of severing ties with Erik Lehnsherr.
As Moira had suggested, Charles drafted a short piece on the murders later that afternoon, nothing too detailed but something that drew stronger connections between the Tabram and John Doe cases, made it seem like a big enough deal that Brian was willing to run a few lines of it in his paper. As always, he made Charles publish it under a pseudonym which meant the byline gave credit for his story to Francis Pembroke. His mother, if she'd been alive, would've liked seeing her family names get so much of the limelight.
The small piece ran the next morning and Charles found himself at his father's office by the afternoon, thanks to a rather urgent call from Moira. When he reached her desk, she spun in her chair, grinning broadly.
"Well don't you look like the cat with the canary?" he teased. "What's going on?"
"Maria called," she explained. "She says she thinks she's found someone who knows John Doe."
"One of her girls?"
She shook her head. "That's the interesting part," Moira said. "One of her volunteer workers. She strips but she doesn't work the streets. Maria said she didn't give a name but she reacted badly to the photo and left before her shift was over."
"That's great news as long as you've got this girl's name for me," Charles said.
"Angel Salvadore," she announced. "Maria can't remember where she's working, so I've got Sean running it down."
"Moira, you're brilliant!" Charles laughed and tugged her to his feet so he could give her a quick, affectionate hug.
"I know!" she laughed, returning the embrace. "Now you'll just have to convince her to talk to you."
Charles didn't get a chance to reply because there was a derisive snort behind them and Moira yanked away from him like she'd been burned. Charles didn't need to turn around to know his father was standing there. "Afternoon, Dad."
"Why are you here every time I turn around?" Brian demanded. "The last thing I need is you slagging after one of my best reporters."
"I don't think I'm Charles's type, Brian," Moira said, slinking back into her chair.
"Neither do I but then he went and got married that time and now I don't know what to expect of him," Brian said. "Never seen him with a girl, always chasing after blokes and then he comes home shackled to some bird."
"One, stop talking about me like I'm not here." Charles raised a hand in protest, pointing at his father. "And, really, do we have to go into this again? It's been years and years since Gabby and I split up."
"Still wearing your ring though, aren't you?" Brian sniped back, peering down at his hand to make the point -- one that he couldn't make because the ring was gone. "You've taken it off?"
He shrugged. "Why not?"
Brian groaned. "Good god, the fear I have now of what it means. No telling what he'll drag home next."
"You sure you don't want your favorite reporter here as you're next daughter-in-law?" Charles suggested with a wink.
"Charles!" Moira exclaimed, burying her head against her keyboard in an expression of exasperation.
Brian shook his head, waving a finger around at the room. "These people work for a living, so stop bothering them," he told Charles. "I've run your little piece, now go away and let the real reporters do their jobs."
Charles stifled his amusement. "I'll see you Saturday for dinner?"
"If you can get your sister to come home before then," Brian said as he headed back toward his office. "Otherwise, I might as well come to your place too!"
When the door closed behind him, Moira shot Charles a look. "It's amazing you're as normal as you are."
"We're more alike than you probably think," Charles told her. "Still, I should probably go before he gets started again. Have Sean text me the information when he digs it up?"
"Sure thing," Moira promised, waving him off as her desk telephone rang.
He was barely out of the building before he got the message, showing from Sean's number: Angel Salv works @ club @ 50 W 33rd St.
It turned out that the Angel in question worked at a club that he was familiar with thanks to one too many bachelor parties in his youth. It was a rather upscale gentleman's club who valued their girls' privacy rather vigorously. So instead of dropping by and bribing the manager to get Angel's address, Charles called and spoke to the hostess who answered about arranging for a private VIP room and some expensive champagne before asking, oh so casually, if it could be for the next time the delightful Angel was working.
"You're in luck, she's on tonight," the woman on the phone said. "Shall I put you down?"
"Of course," he said, giving her the information for his father's expense account at the paper. "And put a little down for yourself, hmm?"
Next, he called Erik, ducking back into the building and into a quiet hallway so he wouldn't be overheard.
"Lehnsherr," came the terse greeting.
"It's Charles," he said. "I've found out something."
"What is it?" he asked.
"I can't say yet, it's something we'll have to check out," he explained. "Can we meet at your place about 9?"
There was a pause, like Erik had to seriously consider it. Charles rolled his eyes as he waited. "Fine."
"See you then," Charles said before he pressed the button to end the call. He ran a few errands and made a few more phone calls, including one to one of his other police contacts, this one being a former school friend who worked in Missing Persons. No one matching the description of John Doe had been reported missing which was another point in favor of the working theory of prostitute, but there were a lot of other reasons that could account for the same situation. Hank had put his age somewhere between 22 and 25, which meant it was possible he was an out-of-state student whose family had no reason to know he was missing yet, or even a young businessman or tourist on a visit to the city. As much as the case had already consumed his life, it was shocking to remember that John Doe had barely been dead 72 hours.
Just before it was time to meet Erik at his place, Charles went home to change into a nicer suit for his role as rich strip club customer, brushing a hand down the line of the gray suit before he pulled on his coat and left his brownstone, along with a note for Raven saying that he'd be out late. He spared a thought for how Erik would react to his very expensive attire -- a gift from Raven, bought with their father's ample funds -- and if it would shake his conclusion about Charles's occupation. He wasn't sure if he wanted it to or not.
Even though Charles was running a little late, Erik was even later. It was closer to 9:30 than 9:00 when he finally saw the detective striding off the elevator and down the hall of his building.
Charles hit the button to lock his smart phone screen. "I was about to text you again," Charles said.
"Work. I was in court all afternoon, and..." Erik waved his hand as if to brush away whatever had held him up. "Are you going to tell me what you found?"
"Someone who I believe can tell us who John Doe is," Charles told him, moving back a little so Erik could unlock his door. "We'll need to hurry though because we're about to miss our reservation."
Erik shot him a confused look over his shoulder as he opened his door and went inside. "I'll need to change first."
"I don't think so." Charles said, halting his advance toward the bedroom by wrapping his fingers around Erik's elbow. He was wearing a dark suit, obviously not as high quality or nicely tailored as Charles's, but he didn't need it, not on his lean form. Charles would've liked a little more time to be appreciative, but they really were in danger of losing the reservations he'd made. "We'll need to look the part for where we're going and you cut a very fine figure as you are. Come on."
Erik managed to negotiate enough time to check his messages quickly before he allowed Charles to drag him outside to the car. When Charles gave him the address in Korea Town, Erik did a double take. "We're going to a strip club?"
"It surprises you that someone who might know an alleged prostitute works in a strip club?" Charles asked. "Astonishing."
Erik's scowl said he didn't enjoy Charles's subtle mockery but that didn't bother Charles very much since Erik seemed very intent on sneaking glances at him at the red lights while en route to the club, and they weren't disapproving glances at all. He didn't have much chance to decide on a proper response, however, because they had pulled up to the club and Erik was reluctantly turning his keys over to the valet.
"It will be fine," Charles assured him, tugging him along when he hesitated, looking distinctly will at ease. "Inside."
The club was everything Charles remembered it to be -- posh and dimly lit, red velvet and smooth black leather, with a line of glittering female bodies writhing on the stage. He left Erik standing in the entrance way, giving their surroundings a hard stare while he spoke quietly to the hostess, slipping her his name and reservation information where the detective couldn't hear him tossing around the Xavier name. Once she'd confirmed it, she smiled and beckoned them to follow her to the club's third floor.
"Where are we going?" Erik asked, distracted by the shimmying woman on the stage as they rose above it on the spiraling staircase.
"VIP room," Charles told him. That earned him another distrustful look. "What? Do you want to try to talk to the girl in front of everyone? I thought this would be the best way to go about it."
The hostess handed them off to a blond, the VIP hostess, who led them through a hall of velvet-lined cubicles until they reached the last one in the row. Like the exterior of the club, the interior VIP room was draped in red velvet on all sides, a small bed situated in its center. Beside it were little tables, one offering an ice bucket with a chilled bottle of just-uncorked champagne and two glass flutes. "Here you are, gentlemen," she said, ushering them inside. "Angel should be up shortly."
"Thank you," Charles told her with a smile, slipping her a tip. "Everything is...lovely."
Once they were alone, he shrugged out of his coat and made himself comfortable on the bed. "It'll be a few minutes," he advised Erik who was more slowly taking off his coat. "You might as well get comfortable and enjoy the champagne." When Erik still seemed to be moving slowly, Charles poured him a glass and held it out.
"This is highly unprofessional," Erik groused, but he took it nonetheless, giving in and taking a seat on the small bed next to Charles.
"Not for me," Charles teased with a grin. He took a sip of his champagne. "Good, isn't it?"
"How do you know about this girl?" Erik asked, trying to settle more comfortably against the cushioned backboard of the bed. It was so narrow that they had no choice but to sit closely, elbows brushing with every small movement.
"A friend of a friend," he said, which was strictly true, as he considered Moira a dear friend. "Sadly our tenuous degrees of separation won't help us much, I'm afraid."
Erik sighed, carefully setting his champagne flute on the table on his side of the lounger. "How much longer will we have to wait?"
Charles glanced at his watch. "Not much," he told him. "Maybe a half-hour or so. She probably has other customers ahead of us."
"Hmm," was Erik's noncommittal reply. He was obviously not someone who dealt well with waiting and, from what Charles had seen of his personality, Erik was not someone gifted with patience.
Charles watched him out of the corner of his eye, admiring the stern, classic lines of his face and form, the way the suit fit him through the shoulders and chest. It was inconvenient, he decided, that he found Erik as distracting as he did when he was in the middle of a major story. Still, Charles wasn't one to let an opportunity go to waste and, even though he had decided against correcting Erik's assumptions about his lifestyle, he didn't want the detective to think he'd considered their night together as work. "I do know of a way we could pass the time," he offered.
Erik raised an eyebrow in response, which Charles noticed as he leaned over to set aside his own champagne flute. Erik was watching him with an interested but a trusting gaze, which was a mistake on his part that Charles was eager to exploit. Before Erik could protest, Charles twined his hand around Erik's dark, sedate tie and tugged him close enough that Charles could capture his lips with his own. Erik's lips parted in surprise beneath Charles's and he slid his tongue against Erik's until the detective responded, a low growl in his throat as he moved forward, hands spreading over Charles's gray-clad shoulders.
The sound Charles made in response wasn't quite a note of triumph, but it was close.
**
End of Part 4
Author: Regann
Pairing: Charles/Erik (XMFC)
Rating: PG-13/R
Word Count: ~5,200 for the chapter (total: 50,000+)
Warnings: discussion of murder, violence and prostitution
Disclaimer: I don't own anything; I just play with them.
Notes: Everything I know about law enforcement and investigative journalism, I learned from watching television. Don't expect any more realism here than you'd find on an episode of CSI or L&O. There is also State of Play influence in this fic as well, although you don't need to have seen it to understand anything in this fic.
Summary: While investigating the homicide of a John Doe who he suspects might've been murdered while working the streets as a prostitute, Detective Erik Lehnsherr finds an unexpected ally in a hooker named Charles who seems as determined as he to solve the case. As they become more deeply involved both with the case and each other, there's just one thing that Charles neglects to mention -- that he's really an investigative journalist, one quickly convinced that what they're dealing with is more than simple murder. cop!Erik, fake-hooker-slash-reporter!Charles, Modern AU.
Previous Parts available at LJ, DW and AO3.
Guilty by Association (Part 4)
Emma wasn't exactly thrilled when Erik finally showed up in her office after half a morning of evasion, but Darwin had laid some good groundwork to explain his late arrival because she was only mildly annoyed instead of well and truly pissed. Darwin had also made sure that coffee and aspirin were waiting for Erik at his desk and he turned it over with minimal mockery, again proving to Erik that the best thing he'd ever done for himself was taking Darwin on as his partner when he'd first made detective.
"I wanted an update on the John Doe -- two hours ago," Frost snapped when he asked about why she'd been looking for him. "Muñoz was able to give me a general idea but I really wanted to hear it from you, Lehnsherr. You are the lead detective on it."
"I got distracted following up some leads," Erik lied smoothly, without even a hint of remorse. It was probably the first thing he'd done that morning that hadn't hit him with some. "But if you want to hear it again, I'll tell you what Darwin did: we're still trying to figure out who he is and we're taking a second look at the forensics because right now there's nothing to go on."
"There's never nothing," she retorted. "There's always something and I'm expecting you to find it and quickly. I'd like to get this case and the Tabram one off our plates as soon as possible."
"Wouldn't we all?" Erik deadpanned. He shook his head, both in confusion and to help clear out some of the post-hangover fuzziness. "I'm just wondering what's suddenly made this case different than all the other ones I've worked in the past five years?"
Erik had asked mostly on instinct, picking up on some barely-discernable tension that had his normally icy-veined captain vibrating in her desk chair, but he knew he was onto something when she visibly started at his question.
Frost glared at him, leaning forward a little to look as menacing as possible. It might've worked on Darwin or some of the other rookies, but Erik was largely immune after their half-decade together. "It's not, which means I need you doing your job to the best of your ability as quickly as possible because while you're dicking around trying to figure out who's murdering prostitutes in the Bronx, people are still killing each other all over the place. Those murders need to be solved too."
When the phone on her desk began to ring, they both glared at it.
"Get out," she ordered. "I have to take this call."
He stood up to leave but not without a parting shot. "I'm doing the best I can," he told her. "You think someone else could do it better, you send them my way." When he looked back after he'd stepped out of her office, she was still giving him that same dark look and he barely resisted the urge to flip her off.
"That good, huh?" Darwin asked when Erik reached the desk where his partner was waiting and Darwin got the effect of his glower.
"She's just flexing her claws, although I don't know why," Erik replied. He leaned against the desks and crossed his arms. "She's right about one thing, though. We need some traction on this case and fast."
"There's nothing new from Hank or from forensics yet," Darwin informed him. "I checked this morning."
Erik sighed and sank down into his chair, eyes roaming over the stacks of files on his desk. "Let's just run through this again, maybe something will hit us."
"Sure thing," Darwin said, pulling up something on his computer with a few key strokes. "Okay, so the call came in around 3AM when our friends Penhall and Hanson see the vic in the alley on a routine sweep."
"No witnesses."
"Right."
"No noises, no neighbors hearing or seeing anything?"
"Not that would admit it to a cop," Darwin answered.
"Yeah." Erik sighed again. "What's next?"
"Penhall calls it in, Azazello takes it. He's next on the scene."
"Huh." Azazello was far from Erik's favorite person on the force but there was a chance that the detective had seen something on the scene when he'd responded that had been gone by the time Erik had arrived amid swarming uniforms and a team of CSU technicians. "I should've probably talked to him before now."
Darwin shrugged. "Maybe but I have my doubts that he could find his way out of a paper bag."
Erik bit back the grin he wanted to let loose at Darwin's comment. Instead he scanned the bullpen until his gaze found Azazello across the room, talking to a uniform he didn't recognize. "Hey, Azazello!" he shouted. "Got a minute?"
The other detective didn't look overjoyed at the prospect but he nodded his agreement then turned to finish his conversation with the other officer. While he waited, Erik thumbed through his text messages and even checked his extension's voicemail. Finally, Azazello made his over to Erik's desk. "You want something, Lehnsherr?" he asked, his Russian accent far more pronounced than the faint strains of mother tongue still left in Erik's.
"Just wanted to ask you a few questions about that John Doe case," Erik said.
Azazello shrugged. "Frost gave it to you, so what about it?"
"You were the first detective on the scene," Darwin pointed out. "We were hoping you saw something that we might've missed later."
Azazello shrugged again. "There wasn't much to see. Dead hooker in an alley. Not the first, probably not the last."
"We don't know what he was because we don't even know who he is," Erik told him with a dark look. "So I'd appreciate it if you'd spare a moment to actually think about the damn question we're asking you."
Azazello returned the Erik's obvious irritation with some of his own. "Look, there wasn't anything to see. Dead h---guy, stab wounds, a few blocks from that last one, I called Frost and she said to bump it to you guys. I was barely there five minutes before McCoy showed up."
"Really?" Erik narrowed his eyes. "You noticed nothing of importance?"
Azazello rolled his eyes and leaned in, lowering his voice for Erik and Darwin's ears only. "Look, Lehnsherr, just because you've got a soft spot for hookers or whatever doesn't mean the rest of us are wasting our time with them."
For a ridiculous, heart-stopping second Erik thought Azazello had somehow found out by the interesting night he'd had with Charles before he realized the other detective was just an arrogant asshole. "Nobody deserves to be gutted and left in an alley, Azazello. Our job is to find the bastard that did that, not turn our backs on the vic because maybe he did something you didn't like."
Azazello straightened up. "Sorry I couldn't be more help," he said, not even trying to hide his sarcasm. "But I've got my own cases to handle."
As soon as he'd walked away, Darwin made a disgusted noise in the back of his throat. "Like I said, he couldn't detect his way out of a paper bag."
"It was worth a try," Erik said, although he agreed with Darwin. "Anyone else we can shake down in case we've missed something?"
"Not that I can think of, but I got an email while Azazello was over here. It's from McCoy and one of the CSU guys," Darwin revealed. "They've spotted another difference between Tabram and our John Doe. Forensics says Tabram bled out at the scene but there's no evidence of it for the John Doe."
"So he was probably dumped there instead of stabbed there?" Erik asked.
Darwin nodded. "That's what McCoy is supposing. Given the stab wounds, there would've been blood spatter if he'd been attacked there."
"Which makes me wonder if this is actually a possible serial or if it's a copycat," Erik told him.
"We still need to know more," Darwin said.
"Yeah, we do." Erik stood up and motioned for Darwin to do the same. "Let's go."
"Where to?" Darwin wanted to know, even as he grabbed his coat and followed.
"Might as well give the neighborhood another try in case someone has decided catching a murder is worth the risk of being seen cooperating with the police."
"You really are an optimist, aren't you?" Darwin said, grinning at the startled look Erik gave him.
"Shut up and let's go," Erik told him. "We need to swing by and pick up my car on the way."
They pounded the pavement for several hours, but no one who might've heard anything the night of the murder was changing their story from the party line that no one heard or saw anything. Erik supposed that the murderer could've managed to dump the body without anyone seeing, but it felt like a stretch, even if it had happened between midnight and 2AM.
His day had been frustrating but it had been busy, which had kept Erik from dwelling too much on the angst from the morning and Erik had been grateful for the distraction. As he drove home, though, Erik knew that the silence and emptiness waiting for him at his apartment would mean that he'd have nothing better to do than to think the stupid stunt he'd pulled the night before.
What he hadn't expected was to find Charles actually waiting by his door.
It was apparent that he'd been loitering there awhile by the way Charles winced ever so slightly as he straightened up from his lean against the wall. "I was wondering if I'd have to try again tomorrow," Charles said, smiling a little tentatively as he met Erik's shocked gaze.
"My job isn't exactly known for regular hours," Erik heard himself say.
Charles let out a huff of laughter. "Neither is mine."
Despite being fully aware of how stupid he'd been the night before, Erik couldn't deny that the attraction was still there. Charles was again dressed in slacks and a button-down shirt, though the first two buttons were undone, revealing a line of pale skin and the faintest hint of a reddish mark that Erik was pretty sure he'd left the night before. "What are you doing here?" he finally managed to ask past the lump in his throat.
"I was hoping to talk to you," Charles said. "May I come in?"
Erik didn't really think it was the best idea he'd ever had, but he nodded anyway, blaming his weakness on the imploring way Charles watched him unlock the door with his big blue eyes. "Fine, come in."
He dropped his keys on the table by the door as he walked in, waiting until Charles took a few steps into his living room to close the front door behind him. Erik watched Charles look around the living room for a minute or two before he finally asked, "What did you want to talk to me about?"
Charles turned to face him, coat tucked under his arm. "I think we've gotten ourselves on the wrong foot and I wanted to straighten it out."
"There's really nothing to straighten out."
"Yes, there is," Charles insisted. "I need you to...Erik, please." Charles's gaze was still imploring and hard to resist. "I just wanted to make it clear that last night -- it wasn't about my job or yours, all right? I came home with you because I wanted to. That's all there was to it."
Erik tried to let himself feel better at Charles's declaration but it didn't really relieve his guilt the way it should've. "That's good to know, Charles, now..."
"And you were right the other night," Charles continued as if Erik hadn't tried to speak. "Well, not really but you weren't far off."
"What are you talking about?" Erik asked.
"You said you thought I knew more than I was saying about that murder," Charles explained. "I didn't, not really, but I was hoping to learn more."
"You were out asking questions, too," Erik realized.
Charles nodded. "I wanted to see if anyone knew anything."
Erik couldn't ignore how uneasy the thought made him, that Charles was out there putting himself in more danger when there seemed to be a killer out on the street preying on pretty available boys. "That's not a good idea," he told him. "You could draw attention you don't need."
"No more than you, walking the street with your gun and your badge," Charles shot back. "That's actually why I'm here, Erik. I want to help you."
"With what, the investigation?" At Charles's slight nod, Erik shook his head. "No. Hell no."
"Just listen to me for a moment," Charles said, gaze narrowing at Erik's immediate denial. "You need my help."
"No, I don't," Erik told him.
"The police have it all figured out, then?" Erik's expression must've betrayed the answer Charles was looking for because he smiled, triumphant. "Don't kid yourself -- you do need my help. I have resources that you'll never have access to as a cop. And I'm not even talking about illegal things. Just...there are people who will talk to me that will never talk to you. You know that."
Erik did know. He'd spent a frustrating afternoon dealing with just that problem, facing the unpleasant reality that many of the people they were sworn to protect would rather protect themselves from cops than help them catch a killer. Erik remembered his mother's own lingering issues with the police, left over from her years of oppression in East Germany and, once he'd decided to pursue law enforcement, he'd always promised himself that he would be the cop that prove all that fear wrong.
Erik also knew that if there was anything he could do stupider than bringing home a prostitute, it would be letting that same prostitute help him with the investigation.
"You seemed vaguely concerned about my safety a minute ago," Charles observed. "I'm not going to stop looking into this, so if you tell me no, I'll just be doing it alone. Wouldn't it be safer for everyone if we did this together?"
It was a cheap shot, but Erik couldn't deny its effectiveness as he tried to ignore the images the thought the conjured up of Charles dead in some alley just like Tabram or John Doe. He knew he'd probably regret it, even as he nodded his agreement. "Fine," he said, adding when Charles favored him with a wide grin. "But you bring anything to me, all right? Don't go investigating alone."
Charles's smile turned a little soft around the edges, as had his eyes. "I wouldn't dream of doing anything without you, Erik." His voice was soft and he leaned in just a little, until they were almost touching, drawing Erik's attention to the fact that they'd already been standing far closer than necessary for a simple conversation.
Catching the look Charles was giving him from beneath his lashes, Erik knew he needed to get him out of his apartment quick before he did another stupid thing, like drag him off to bed and offer to pay double his rate if he stayed the night again. Instead, he stepped back and reached into his coat pocket for a card. "Call me if you find anything," he said. "My cell number is on here."
"All right," Charles agreed. Their fingers brushed as he took the proffered card and Erik tried to ignore the fact that it was accidentally-on-purpose.
He stalked over to the front door and held it open. "Good night, Charles."
Charles gave him a look like he knew exactly why he was pushing him out the door and didn't agree with it one bit. "Don't you want me to return the favor?" he asked, as he stepped up in Erik's space once again.
"What do you mean?"
In lieu of answering, Charles slid his hand over Erik's chest which he was about to protest until he realized that Charles did so in order to free a pen from the breast pocket of his jacket. He clicked the pen a few times, then reached for the hand Erik wasn't using to hold the door open. "I prefer text," Charles informed him as he wrote out a number on the palm of Erik's hand. "But don't hesitate to reach out if you decide you need me."
It wasn't until after Erik had all but shoved Charles out of his apartment and slammed the door behind him that he realized Charles had kept his pen.
**
Charles knew he should've probably felt a little more guilty about the charade he'd decided put on for Detective Lehnsherr, but he had enough good excuses to keep them at bay. First, there was the fact that he wasn't even lying -- it was Erik who had decided Charles was a hooker, not Charles. He was just choosing not to disabuse the detective of his wrong conclusion. Second, there was his story, which wouldn't be served by Erik knowing the truth. As reluctant as Erik was to accept help and share information with a sex worker, he would've been immediately put off by Charles's real occupation. The police tended to see reporters as the enemy and, Charles knew, the reverse was often true as well. Introducing the truth between them would probably sever any future contact they might have.
His third reason was that for reasons far more personal than his current story, Charles did not like the idea of severing ties with Erik Lehnsherr.
As Moira had suggested, Charles drafted a short piece on the murders later that afternoon, nothing too detailed but something that drew stronger connections between the Tabram and John Doe cases, made it seem like a big enough deal that Brian was willing to run a few lines of it in his paper. As always, he made Charles publish it under a pseudonym which meant the byline gave credit for his story to Francis Pembroke. His mother, if she'd been alive, would've liked seeing her family names get so much of the limelight.
The small piece ran the next morning and Charles found himself at his father's office by the afternoon, thanks to a rather urgent call from Moira. When he reached her desk, she spun in her chair, grinning broadly.
"Well don't you look like the cat with the canary?" he teased. "What's going on?"
"Maria called," she explained. "She says she thinks she's found someone who knows John Doe."
"One of her girls?"
She shook her head. "That's the interesting part," Moira said. "One of her volunteer workers. She strips but she doesn't work the streets. Maria said she didn't give a name but she reacted badly to the photo and left before her shift was over."
"That's great news as long as you've got this girl's name for me," Charles said.
"Angel Salvadore," she announced. "Maria can't remember where she's working, so I've got Sean running it down."
"Moira, you're brilliant!" Charles laughed and tugged her to his feet so he could give her a quick, affectionate hug.
"I know!" she laughed, returning the embrace. "Now you'll just have to convince her to talk to you."
Charles didn't get a chance to reply because there was a derisive snort behind them and Moira yanked away from him like she'd been burned. Charles didn't need to turn around to know his father was standing there. "Afternoon, Dad."
"Why are you here every time I turn around?" Brian demanded. "The last thing I need is you slagging after one of my best reporters."
"I don't think I'm Charles's type, Brian," Moira said, slinking back into her chair.
"Neither do I but then he went and got married that time and now I don't know what to expect of him," Brian said. "Never seen him with a girl, always chasing after blokes and then he comes home shackled to some bird."
"One, stop talking about me like I'm not here." Charles raised a hand in protest, pointing at his father. "And, really, do we have to go into this again? It's been years and years since Gabby and I split up."
"Still wearing your ring though, aren't you?" Brian sniped back, peering down at his hand to make the point -- one that he couldn't make because the ring was gone. "You've taken it off?"
He shrugged. "Why not?"
Brian groaned. "Good god, the fear I have now of what it means. No telling what he'll drag home next."
"You sure you don't want your favorite reporter here as you're next daughter-in-law?" Charles suggested with a wink.
"Charles!" Moira exclaimed, burying her head against her keyboard in an expression of exasperation.
Brian shook his head, waving a finger around at the room. "These people work for a living, so stop bothering them," he told Charles. "I've run your little piece, now go away and let the real reporters do their jobs."
Charles stifled his amusement. "I'll see you Saturday for dinner?"
"If you can get your sister to come home before then," Brian said as he headed back toward his office. "Otherwise, I might as well come to your place too!"
When the door closed behind him, Moira shot Charles a look. "It's amazing you're as normal as you are."
"We're more alike than you probably think," Charles told her. "Still, I should probably go before he gets started again. Have Sean text me the information when he digs it up?"
"Sure thing," Moira promised, waving him off as her desk telephone rang.
He was barely out of the building before he got the message, showing from Sean's number: Angel Salv works @ club @ 50 W 33rd St.
It turned out that the Angel in question worked at a club that he was familiar with thanks to one too many bachelor parties in his youth. It was a rather upscale gentleman's club who valued their girls' privacy rather vigorously. So instead of dropping by and bribing the manager to get Angel's address, Charles called and spoke to the hostess who answered about arranging for a private VIP room and some expensive champagne before asking, oh so casually, if it could be for the next time the delightful Angel was working.
"You're in luck, she's on tonight," the woman on the phone said. "Shall I put you down?"
"Of course," he said, giving her the information for his father's expense account at the paper. "And put a little down for yourself, hmm?"
Next, he called Erik, ducking back into the building and into a quiet hallway so he wouldn't be overheard.
"Lehnsherr," came the terse greeting.
"It's Charles," he said. "I've found out something."
"What is it?" he asked.
"I can't say yet, it's something we'll have to check out," he explained. "Can we meet at your place about 9?"
There was a pause, like Erik had to seriously consider it. Charles rolled his eyes as he waited. "Fine."
"See you then," Charles said before he pressed the button to end the call. He ran a few errands and made a few more phone calls, including one to one of his other police contacts, this one being a former school friend who worked in Missing Persons. No one matching the description of John Doe had been reported missing which was another point in favor of the working theory of prostitute, but there were a lot of other reasons that could account for the same situation. Hank had put his age somewhere between 22 and 25, which meant it was possible he was an out-of-state student whose family had no reason to know he was missing yet, or even a young businessman or tourist on a visit to the city. As much as the case had already consumed his life, it was shocking to remember that John Doe had barely been dead 72 hours.
Just before it was time to meet Erik at his place, Charles went home to change into a nicer suit for his role as rich strip club customer, brushing a hand down the line of the gray suit before he pulled on his coat and left his brownstone, along with a note for Raven saying that he'd be out late. He spared a thought for how Erik would react to his very expensive attire -- a gift from Raven, bought with their father's ample funds -- and if it would shake his conclusion about Charles's occupation. He wasn't sure if he wanted it to or not.
Even though Charles was running a little late, Erik was even later. It was closer to 9:30 than 9:00 when he finally saw the detective striding off the elevator and down the hall of his building.
Charles hit the button to lock his smart phone screen. "I was about to text you again," Charles said.
"Work. I was in court all afternoon, and..." Erik waved his hand as if to brush away whatever had held him up. "Are you going to tell me what you found?"
"Someone who I believe can tell us who John Doe is," Charles told him, moving back a little so Erik could unlock his door. "We'll need to hurry though because we're about to miss our reservation."
Erik shot him a confused look over his shoulder as he opened his door and went inside. "I'll need to change first."
"I don't think so." Charles said, halting his advance toward the bedroom by wrapping his fingers around Erik's elbow. He was wearing a dark suit, obviously not as high quality or nicely tailored as Charles's, but he didn't need it, not on his lean form. Charles would've liked a little more time to be appreciative, but they really were in danger of losing the reservations he'd made. "We'll need to look the part for where we're going and you cut a very fine figure as you are. Come on."
Erik managed to negotiate enough time to check his messages quickly before he allowed Charles to drag him outside to the car. When Charles gave him the address in Korea Town, Erik did a double take. "We're going to a strip club?"
"It surprises you that someone who might know an alleged prostitute works in a strip club?" Charles asked. "Astonishing."
Erik's scowl said he didn't enjoy Charles's subtle mockery but that didn't bother Charles very much since Erik seemed very intent on sneaking glances at him at the red lights while en route to the club, and they weren't disapproving glances at all. He didn't have much chance to decide on a proper response, however, because they had pulled up to the club and Erik was reluctantly turning his keys over to the valet.
"It will be fine," Charles assured him, tugging him along when he hesitated, looking distinctly will at ease. "Inside."
The club was everything Charles remembered it to be -- posh and dimly lit, red velvet and smooth black leather, with a line of glittering female bodies writhing on the stage. He left Erik standing in the entrance way, giving their surroundings a hard stare while he spoke quietly to the hostess, slipping her his name and reservation information where the detective couldn't hear him tossing around the Xavier name. Once she'd confirmed it, she smiled and beckoned them to follow her to the club's third floor.
"Where are we going?" Erik asked, distracted by the shimmying woman on the stage as they rose above it on the spiraling staircase.
"VIP room," Charles told him. That earned him another distrustful look. "What? Do you want to try to talk to the girl in front of everyone? I thought this would be the best way to go about it."
The hostess handed them off to a blond, the VIP hostess, who led them through a hall of velvet-lined cubicles until they reached the last one in the row. Like the exterior of the club, the interior VIP room was draped in red velvet on all sides, a small bed situated in its center. Beside it were little tables, one offering an ice bucket with a chilled bottle of just-uncorked champagne and two glass flutes. "Here you are, gentlemen," she said, ushering them inside. "Angel should be up shortly."
"Thank you," Charles told her with a smile, slipping her a tip. "Everything is...lovely."
Once they were alone, he shrugged out of his coat and made himself comfortable on the bed. "It'll be a few minutes," he advised Erik who was more slowly taking off his coat. "You might as well get comfortable and enjoy the champagne." When Erik still seemed to be moving slowly, Charles poured him a glass and held it out.
"This is highly unprofessional," Erik groused, but he took it nonetheless, giving in and taking a seat on the small bed next to Charles.
"Not for me," Charles teased with a grin. He took a sip of his champagne. "Good, isn't it?"
"How do you know about this girl?" Erik asked, trying to settle more comfortably against the cushioned backboard of the bed. It was so narrow that they had no choice but to sit closely, elbows brushing with every small movement.
"A friend of a friend," he said, which was strictly true, as he considered Moira a dear friend. "Sadly our tenuous degrees of separation won't help us much, I'm afraid."
Erik sighed, carefully setting his champagne flute on the table on his side of the lounger. "How much longer will we have to wait?"
Charles glanced at his watch. "Not much," he told him. "Maybe a half-hour or so. She probably has other customers ahead of us."
"Hmm," was Erik's noncommittal reply. He was obviously not someone who dealt well with waiting and, from what Charles had seen of his personality, Erik was not someone gifted with patience.
Charles watched him out of the corner of his eye, admiring the stern, classic lines of his face and form, the way the suit fit him through the shoulders and chest. It was inconvenient, he decided, that he found Erik as distracting as he did when he was in the middle of a major story. Still, Charles wasn't one to let an opportunity go to waste and, even though he had decided against correcting Erik's assumptions about his lifestyle, he didn't want the detective to think he'd considered their night together as work. "I do know of a way we could pass the time," he offered.
Erik raised an eyebrow in response, which Charles noticed as he leaned over to set aside his own champagne flute. Erik was watching him with an interested but a trusting gaze, which was a mistake on his part that Charles was eager to exploit. Before Erik could protest, Charles twined his hand around Erik's dark, sedate tie and tugged him close enough that Charles could capture his lips with his own. Erik's lips parted in surprise beneath Charles's and he slid his tongue against Erik's until the detective responded, a low growl in his throat as he moved forward, hands spreading over Charles's gray-clad shoulders.
The sound Charles made in response wasn't quite a note of triumph, but it was close.
**
End of Part 4