Chapter Text
“We don’t visit this part of town too much, do we Arroyo?” Detective Harry Cardrona calls over their sedan towards his partner as they exit the vehicle.
The twenty-year NYPD veteran scans the elegant façades with appraising eyes. “No, not a lot of call outs here in our line of work.” he agrees.
The short dumpy man limps around the car to meet Gil on the sidewalk, musing as he goes. “We’re in for some weird shit, I can feel it. Houses like these are always hiding the crazy, mark my words.” Gil smiles bracingly for a moment but remaining silent, knowing that Harry isn’t one for interruptions. “You heard anything about our vic?”
“Only what came over the radio. A man in his sixties with multiple stab wounds, called in by his son.” The chatter on the wireless was pointing to a gruesome scene, and Gil was preparing himself for it. Bloody crime scenes are always challenging for the senses, and the humidity in the city wasn’t going to help matters today. A door thrown wide open with a uniformed officer stationed at the door was their marker to which house they were needed in. “This looks to be us.” Gil nods and ascends the small flight of steps, flashing his badge as he does so.
“Holy-“
“Don’t finish that.” Gil warns.
“What? It’s not everyday you see a staircase like that. This place is old. And have you seen these floor tiles?!” The rotund detective sweeps the right toe of his shoe over the mosaic tiles as though soaking up the pattern into his very being.
“Pull yourself together, Cardrona. We have a case to solve.” Gil takes stock of the bottom floor of the period home. The entrance gave way to a grand living/dining area with antique furniture, all of which he was one hundred percent sure would cost more than anything in his own home. It was immaculate, carefully curated for the echelons of society that Gil and his ilk would never reach.
Sitting on the couch in question are two people who are accompanied by an officer, though neither of them are paying her any mind. A woman in her late fifties dressed in an elegant blouse and pants with her hair swept up in a chignon is adjacent to a young man in his late twenties dressed in a bloody sweatshirt and track pants. His bloody hands lie limply in his lap and long hair that’s a little too greasy to be clean falls into his eyes, hollow orbs devoid of any spark of life. Neither seems to be aware of the other’s existence on the lounge, each in their own world of shock.
“Must be the wife and kid.” Cardrona murmurs to himself.
A series of thumps draws Gil’s attention to the first floor, and he deduces that’s where their victim will be found. “It sounds like we’re upstairs, we should take a look and swing back later.”
“Yeah, they might be awake by then. Don’t think we’ll get much out of them now.”
“There was a murder in their own home, Harry. Cut them some slack.” Gil grits out, and for the third time today he is wondering how an oaf like Cardrona was able to become a detective in the first place. He stalks up the staircase in silence, and when he reaches the landing he follows the hustle and bustle from the master bedroom to be greeted by their resident ME. A white sheet conceals a prone corpse lying on an expansive Persian rug.
Dr Edrisa Tanaka spies Gil and walks over to her, smiling warmly before uncertainty clouds her face. “Evening Detective Arroyo, Cardrona, where’s Lieutenant Shannon? Do you want me to wait? I’d rather just do this once.”
Cardrona titters to himself, but before he can damage his career with a snide comment Gil replies smoothly, “Shannon has a family matter to attend to, we’ll fill him in later. What have you got for us?”
Edrisa’s expression suggests isn’t entirely convinced the family drama didn’t have to do with Jack, Jim or Cooper as it normally turns out to be the case. She brushes off the comment and moves on. “Victim is sixty two year old Martin Whitly, renowned Cardiothoracic surgeon for thirty years. Multiple stab wounds to the lower chest and torso, murder weapon is most likely the hunting knife discovered next to the body. The blade appears to have been twisted while it was inside Mr Whitly as the puncture wounds are some of the worse I’ve seen. There’s also one large slice to his right forearm, I’d guess it’s a defensive wound. Cause of death is excessive blood loss, most of which is underneath this sheet. Prepare yourselves, I’ve already had two officers throw up.”
She lifts the sheet to reveal a bearded man’s unseeing eyes wearing a look of surprise at an unknown assailant. His clothes resemble an extra from Halloween. A pool of crimson centres around Martin’s stomach and soaks into the rug underneath him. Gil can count seven separate stab wounds ripping holes in the man’s sweater. The gashes are large enough that slivers of shiny entrails have been forced out of his abdomen when the blade was yanked out, the blood glistening in the overhead lights. The smell of human waste is unmistakable as it wafts towards the following the dramatic reveal.
Ignoring the heaving sounds from his partner Gil bends down to observe the injuries further, his own somersaulting stomach as he does so. “Someone had it in for this guy. Getting stabbed this many times? Overkill, for sure.”
Edrisa nods her agreement. “He would have bled out with half these stab wounds based on their placement. Not to mention the risk of infection after nicking the intestines.”
Cardrona whimpers “God I did not need to hear that” then shuffles out of the room to find some fresh air. Gil straightens himself up and sweeps the room with his eyes scanning for anything that appears out of place. Aside from the blood spatter splashed across the fixtures nothing flares on his radar. The interior decoration is so neat you could imagine it in the lifestyle pages of the New York Times. Beyond the murder weapon there’s no further clues here.
“Thanks Edrisa, we’ll check back in when the autopsy is finished.” Gil wanders downstairs searching for further evidence of any disturbance along the way and finds none. A robbery gone wrong is less likely with every growing second. The next logical step is to interview the family, and Gil regards the widow and son on the lounge. Officer Jones supplies their names when Gil asks him how they’re doing and notifies him that the widow arrived in the home after the first responders to the scene. That makes the son his priority as a witness.
Malcolm Whitly’s gaze is focused on the floor. Oblivious to the commotion around him, the young man remains stock still with hunched shoulders, his knees and ankles touching. His oversized clothes hang loose on his frame, yet the odd place the fabric touches his skin suggests a solid build underneath. The brown hair tickling his jawline is dead straight but curves sweetly towards his jaw, and a dusting of stubble graces his face.
Interviewing witnesses is always a delicate business, and Gil considers finding his partner for the next phase of investigation. He heads towards the front door to search for him when he hears Cardrona jovially bantering with the officer outside.
“Did you see the kid? He looks more at home in a homeless shelter than somewhere like this. I thought rich people were supposed to rub your nose in it.”
Gil’s not letting that attitude anywhere near the witness and spins on his heel to tackle the interview alone. After briefly introducing himself to the widow Jessica he lowers himself into an ornate chair opposite Malcolm, clearing his throat once he’s ready to begin. There’s no sign of recognition across the coffee table, so he tries again.
“Mister Whitly.”
Malcolm’s head snaps up at the salutation, and the sight takes Gil’s breath away. He’s sitting across what may be the most beautiful man he’s ever seen. Wide haunted eyes that are so blue their very color pierces his soul and makes him want to stare at them forever. Time slows down as their eyes lock on to one another through Malcolm’s greasy locks, and Gil holds his breath as Malcolm drags himself out of wherever his thoughts have fled to.
The shock dissolves into a grimace, and he replies softly with no small amount of embarrassment, “Nobody calls me Mister Whitly. I’m just Malcolm.” He sounds so utterly broken Gil has to wonder if it’s more than just the trauma of tonight weighing on man’s shoulders.
“Okay Malcolm, I’m Detective Gil Arroyo, and I need to ask you a few questions, okay?”
“Sure thing, Detective.”
“If I’m calling you Malcolm, you can call me Gil.”
“Sure thing, Gil.” Malcolm repeats, and Gil tries to ignore the heat that blooms across his chest when he hears his name out of the man’s mouth.
The witness’s mouth, Gil chides himself. He huffs at his lack of focus and uses the time he retrieves his notebook from his jacket pocket to refocus.
“Firstly, I’m sorry for the loss of your father, I can’t imagine how you must be feeling.”
“I appreciate that.” Malcolm offers nothing further, so Gil presses on.
“I need you to tell me what you saw tonight, in your own words. Take as much time as you need.”
Malcolm’s eyes drop down to his hands clasped in his lap, still covered in his father’s blood. “I was in the basement, I heard my father shouting. Then the shouting stopped and I could hear someone running down the stairs. I came up to investigate and found him on the floor. I tried to stop the bleeding, I tried, I tried, but there was too much. It was everywhere.” His eyes meet Gil’s again, the pain in them evident. “I tried, Gil. I tried, I tried…” the words peter out to Malcolm just mouthing the words over and over.
“Malcolm. Hey, Malcolm.” Gil calls out, but the man shows no sign of hearing him. Unsure of what to do next he glances over at Jessica, whose body slumps and mumbles out a well-worn apology.
“Our son is troubled, detective. He may not be as much help as you might have hoped. I think he’s had enough for one night. Can we do this another time?”
Gil’s not sure what ‘troubled’ might entail, but he’s also seen enough witnesses in shock to know that he won’t get anything else out of Malcolm tonight. “Okay Mrs Whitly, you can stop by the 16th precinct tomorrow. Have ESU taken any photos of your son tonight?”
“What would they need photographs for, my son is a victim!” Jessica gasps.
“That may be the case, Mrs Whitly, but your son is covered in our victim’s blood. It’s standard procedure, nothing to be concerned about. I’ll find someone to do it now, that way he can start to clean up.”
Jessica’s hard expression softens at Gil’s explanation. “Thank you, Detective Arroyo, we would appreciate that very much.”
A glance over at Malcolm finds him fixated on the floor again, his lips no longer moving. He doesn’t appear to have heard their discussion, and there is something about him that makes Gil want to sidle up next to him and comfort Malcolm until he comes back to him. Against his better judgement he kneels down in front of the young man, not really knowing what he is doing. Gil can’t touch him anywhere the blood stains his body as it’s evidence. Malcolm’s whole front is compromised by the blood drying on his hands, arms and legs so Gil reaches for the only part of him not tainted by his father. Calloused fingers hover at the back of Malcolm’s neck, hesitating for a second before connecting and squeezing gently.
“Malcolm,” he calls, and to Gil’s relief he snaps out of his reverie and zones in on him. “I’m going to find someone who’s going to take a few pictures of you, and your clothes. Then you can clean up. Can you hold on a little longer for me?”
“Yes, Gil. Sure.” Malcolm manages a small smile, brightening his face and starting up that warm feeling in Gil’s chest again. The sensation isn’t something he’s felt since Jackie.
“I’ll just go get that help now.” Gil excuses himself and finds the CSU tech who can start the collection process. Once he makes the introductions with a soft smile he excuses himself to reunite with Cardrona outside, who is so busy chewing the fat the thought of doing his job hasn’t occurred to him for quite some time.
“I got what we need from the kid, he’s gonna visit us tomorrow.”
“What? You interviewed him without me? I missed my shot, damn it. I guess there’s always tomorrow, right Arroyo?” Cardrona claps Gil on the shoulder and skips down the stairs and heads back towards their car.
“Not if I have anything to say about it.” Gil vows.
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^
The precinct is humming like any other day the next morning. Phones are ringing, cops are shouting down the bullpen, a typical NYPD scene if anyone would describe it. To Gil though, the noise is muted as he casts his mind back to the night before, and a specific pair of eyes that Gil sees every time he closes his own.
He tries watching TV and burying himself in paperwork, but nothing has been able to distract him from the haunting beauty behind Malcolm Whitly’s eyes. The handsome young man, no, witness is due any minute for his interview and Gil is fighting in vain to get his mind out of the gutter and into the task at hand. Pictures from the crime scene lay open on his desk, reports lie unread as the letters refuse to coalesce into words he can understand. The only word his mind will recognise is Malcolm. The rest fade into oblivion.
“Arroyo! Your boy is here!” Ruiz calls out further down the fall, his thumb pointed behind him at the precinct’s entrance.
Gil blinks wildly, sure that he’s misheard what was just said. “My what?!”
“Your witness? Scrawny looking kid with a lawyer. He’s out front for ya.”
“Oh. Right.” Gil ignores the blush of embarrassment creeping up his face when he realises the context of what Ruiz meant by “your boy” was not the same as the one he was thinking of. He takes a steadying breath and buys a few precious seconds of time for the warmth in his cheeks to dissipate before he collects the files on his desk and walks up the hall to meet Malcolm. His back is turned to Gil has he stares out the window and down onto the street.
“Malcolm, good morning. Thanks for coming in today.”
When Malcolm turns Gil loses all train of thought. All the blood from last night has been washed away and his hair is slicked back neatly, sweeping towards the back of his head. His unblemished pale skin is almost luminescent and seeing his eyes unimpeded remind Gil of fine crystal. The clothes he’s wearing don’t quite fit, the oversize slacks and plain knit jumper are an older style than Gil would have picked for him and accentuate his youth in a I’m-wearing-dad’s-clothes kind of way. Nevertheless, Gil is captivated.
Judging from the tiny smile that plays on Malcolm’s lips his admiration has not gone unnoticed. Or is unwanted. “Morning Detective.” he replies, his voice a little stronger than last night.
The extra timbre in Malcolm’s voice brings a smile to Gil’s face before he tamps it back down. He has a job to do after all. “Call me Gil. I presume this is your counsel?”
“Yes, she was able to spare one from the swarm for me today. This is Mr Cook.”
“Welcome.”
The tall dour man standing behind Malcolm doesn’t appreciate the younger Whitly’s sense of humor, his nose wrinkling up in disdain but refrains from speaking. This could be more fun than Gil was expecting.
“Let me get you situated in an interview room then I’ll round up my partner so we can get started.” Gil lifts his arm behind Malcolm and pushes the air behind him, encouraging his visitors in the right direction. Malcolm doesn’t keep the pace that Gil anticipates which results in his hand making contact with his back. Gil tenses when they touch and resists the urge to yank his hand away lest he make his mistake more obvious. There’s no panic from Malcolm and his body language remains relaxed, so Gil leaves his hand where it is and maintains his connection with the young man as they make their way into a small room at the back of the building.
After a few moments of fluffing around with glasses and water Gil excuses himself with an encouraging smile and heads off to find Cardrona. A raucous belly laugh in the break room guides him towards his partner and he walks into a lewd discussion about summer in New York. Despite his best efforts, Gil’s petition to interview Malcolm on his own was denied. This was today’s moment of Gil wishing for a new partner.
“Harry, Malcolm Whitly is here to make his statement. You ready?”
“Oh, the weirdo! Uh-huh, I’m coming. We’ll pick this up at lunch boys.” He ambles past Gil, who turns to keep step with him and lay out the ground rules before the tactless detective shoots his mouth off.
“Remember Mr Whitly is a witness, not a suspect. Are you gonna be able to remember that?”
“Sure, Arroyo, I’ll keep an open mind. You know I got a knack for sniffing out murderers though. If I get whiff of it on him you can’t hold it against me if I see what shakes out.”
“That will be intimidation if you do, Cardrona.” Gil seethes. “Malcolm has counsel with him who will shut you down if you try, and so will I. Don’t force me to do something you’ll regret.”
“You can’t force me to do shit. If the kid is as innocent as you say he should be out of here in no time.” Cardrona opens the interview room door and occupies the seat directly opposite from Malcolm, much to Gil’s chagrin. He stalks into the room and sits down with an agitated air, startling Malcolm whose eyes widen with fear.
Despite his racing heart and frustration bubbling away at his partner Gil locks his gaze onto the panicked man in front of him and forces his face into what he hopes is a reassuring smile. Malcolm’s breathing slows the longer he maintains eye contact with Gil, and less than a minute later he breaks their connection and cranes his neck up towards his counsel. Mr Cook begins smoothly,
“Detectives, I am here with my client Malcolm Whitly to provide his witness statement relating to his father’s death in their family home last night. Discussions in this room will only be related to last night, any deviation from this topic will result in a termination of the interview.”
Gil nods in agreement the same time Cardrona huffs his displeasure.
“We are the detectives here Mr Cook, we’ll ask whatever we want.”
“You can certainly ask Detective Cardrona, but I can not guarantee you will get an answer. Need I remind you that Malcolm is here today as a cooperating witness, not a person of interest.”
Gil speaks over Cardrona as his face changes colour from cream to puce. “No reminder necessary, we’ll keep it professional. Is your client ready to start?” His partner fumes next to him as Malcolm bequeaths a tiny nod.
“Okay Malcolm, I just need you to tell me in your own words what happened last night. Can you do that for me?”
“I think I can do that, Gil.”
“Great, kid. Now, take your time, and if you need to take a break just tell us. Detective Cardrona and I will be taking notes for the case, it’s not a good thing or a bad thing, yeah?”
Gil knows Cardrona is probably cursing in his head over how gentle he is being with Malcolm, but he can’t bring himself to care. He just wants to see the young man safe. Maybe safe within his arms one day, nestled against the cable knit pattern of his favourite cream sweater. When his awareness comes back, he has already missed the beginning of Malcolm’s testimony, and much to his embarrassment he has to crib off Cardrona’s notes to catch up on what he’s missed.
With a quiet voice Malcolm recounts his recollection of the night before. His story is almost identical to the details he provided Gil, saving for some embellishments when prompted about remembering any shouting from upstairs or if he was sure he hadn’t caught a glimpse of the murderer before discovering his father. Malcolm’s voice trembles when he details the discovery of his wounded father and staying with him until help arrived. Gil’s heart breaks as Malcolm’s struggle to remain coherent is plastered on his face for all to see. He wants nothing more than to reach across the table and take Malcom’s hand and assure him things will be okay. Cardrona on the other hand was feeling less sympathetic. As Malcolm wraps up the final details the detective taps his pen on the notepad impatiently, as though unhappy with their witness’s statement.
“What about the knife, Whitly?” he snaps.
“What about it?”
“It was laying right next to your dad. You telling me you didn’t touch it at all?”
“Of course I didn’t. I could see my father’s blood on the blade, I knew it might be evidence.” At the mention of the murder weapon Malcolm’s gaze drifts to somewhere outside of the cramped room he was sitting in. Gil knows his answer is perfectly reasonable, Cardrona’s rapidly changing complexion signals his partner is not on the same page. Sensing an outburst being imminent Gil starts the post interview wrap up. “Well I think that just about does it for us today, thank you for-“
“You don’t think we’re going to believe that whole story, do you?” Gils jaw drops as his partner sneers incredulously in Malcolm’s direction.
His brow furrows at the accusation. “I’m not sure what you mean, Detective. It’s the truth.”
“Ha, I did some digging on you, Whitly. The troubled son of one of Manhattan’s supposed power couples. You and I both know you aren’t exactly the most reliable narrator, are you son?”
Malcolm flinches at the mention of the word ‘son’. His lawyer steps in, his voice cold as steel. “This has nothing to with last night Detective Cardrona. One more word and I will have the police commissioner on the phone and will be lodging a complaint against you.”
“I’ve been threatened before, Lurch. You don’t scare me. Come on Malcolm, you’re telling me that you didn’t hear whether your dad was shouting with a man or a woman? That you don’t know anyone who would have wanted to hurt your dad? You sure you didn’t kill him?”
“HARRY!” Gil bellows, horrified at his partner’s actions. As Cardrona’s monologue built up its momentum Gil watched Malcolm shrink in on himself and raise a shaking hand on either side of head to protect himself. The quiet calm façade has disappeared, replaced by the dissociative victim Gil had to talk around last night.
Mr Cook snaps the lock on his satchel and rockets to his feet abruptly. “We’re done here. I’ll be stopping by your superior’s office Detective Cardrona, he will hear of this. Come Malcolm.” The lawyer moves towards the door but stops when it occurs to him that Malcolm isn’t following him. He’s still stuck on the chair, frozen in a place.
Gil rounds the table gently and kneels on the floor next to Malcolm. Once he is underneath Malcolm he can hear his fractured voice whispering to himself,
“I know I wasn’t in the woods, I tried, they don’t believe me but I tried, I know I wasn’t in the woods, I tried…”
The reference to the woods is throwing Gil for a loop and he files that away for later, all that matters now is grounding Malcolm back to earth. Risking the ire of everyone else in the room he wraps his hand across the back of Malcolm’s neck as he did last night and murmurs Oyayi sa Mundo under his breath like his Ina used to sing to him when he got upset. The notes rumble in his chest and travel down his arm and into Malcolm’s body, and after a minute of singing the trembling stops and Malcolm’s hands drop back down to his side. Long eyelashes blink the lingering phantoms away and with a heaving gasp Malcolm surges forward and wraps Gil in a bone crushing hug, his face pressed against the crook of the older man’s neck.
The force of Malcolm rushing towards him knocks Gil off his feet, but Gil holds himself upright and returns the hug, staying still until the younger man is ready to pull away. Gil’s heart races as he feels Malcolm’s breath ghosting against his skin while his entire body feels electrified during their embrace. Comforting witnesses never feels this intimate, and it scares him as much as it excites him. When Malcolm drags himself away from their embrace he cocks his head and holds it a few inches away from Gil, as if unsure whether this is what he really wants to do.
It takes all his self-control not to pull him back in. The throat clearing across the room is enough of a reminder that they are both being watched right now. His priority must be getting Malcolm out of the precinct in one piece. They can figure out what’s going on between the two of them later.
“I think you’d better follow Mr Cook, what do you say Malcolm?”
“Yes.” Malcolm whispers, and with a grunt and only a tiny wobble he manages to stretch himself to a standing position. “Thank you, Gil.”
“You’re welcome, Malcolm.” is all Gil can think to respond with. He follows Malcolm out of the room and prevents Cardrona from following him with a glare.
Mr Cook continues voicing his displeasure right through the bullpen, but Gil is barely listening. He bids Malcolm and Mr Cook a brief goodnight before collapsing into the chair at his desk, wiping a hand down his face and clutching at his goatee.
After the interview went off the rails Gil knows it’s going to be up to him to prove that Malcolm’s account is true. Ideally before Cardrona finds his so-called smoking gun. The particulars of the case fade into the background as a more pressing problem emerges.
His brain is firing off all sorts of signals and Gil is dizzy trying to keep up with them. A long dormant part of his mind has roared back into life within the space of a day, all thanks to a criminally beautiful witness.
A witness who may be a murderer if he listens to his partner’s nonsense.
The more concerning thing for Gil is how he felt while Malcolm was panicking. He didn’t want it to end. Doesn’t want it to be the last time he feels Malcolm’s arms wrapped around him. But he can’t think this way as long as Martin Whitly’s killer is walking free.
Gil’s got work to do.