Title: An Encounter With A Serial Killer
Author: P’al Kwai
E-Mail: isisbaast@aol.com
Ratings: NC-17for a hint of D&S and nonconsensual m/m slash. If any of this offends you, please do not read.
Pairings: David Griffin/Allan Shore
Spoilers: The Watcher, the movie, and Boston Legal S2
Disclaimer: I don't own any of these characters. They belong to their respective creators.
Feedback: Welcomed and adored.
Summary: Allan Shore has to defend David Griffin
Boston Massachusetts, June 1, 2006
There was no need to show the guards any ID as most of them were well acquainted with him. Nodding his thanks as the metal bars slid open, Allan Shore, attorney at law from Crane, Poole & Schmidt, walked into Boston city’s detention center.
“I’m here to see David Griffin,” he announced, voice confident and assured.
“Yeah, he’s ready for you.” One of the guards gave him a follow-me wave. More metal bars slid open, as Allan followed the guard down a long hallway.
“And how is it that a lawyer from Crane, Poole & Schmidt is defending this scumbag?” It never failed that the guards had to find a way to voice their opinions to any lawyer, who entered the facility. “He doesn’t have the money to afford the likes of you.” The guard threw him a contemptuous look. “But I suppose your firm couldn’t pass up the publicity this trial is sure to have. A serial killer, who’s murdered from one coast to the other.”
“Actually. . . .” Allan began, not at all surprised by the guard’s cynicism, after all he was a big shot defense attorney, who worked for one of Boston’s biggest law firms. He expected to be disliked. “Every year our firm does a certain number of pro bono cases; this is one of them.”
“Humph,” the guard snorted his disbelief, as he stopped in front of a small, interrogation room. “Prisoner is handcuffed, too dangerous any other way.” Unlocking the barred door, he held it open, allowing Allan to pass. “Pound on the door, when you’re ready.”
“Mr. Griffin.” Allan swung his briefcase on the small table, getting his first good look at the notorious serial killer.
Dressed in the typical orange jumpsuit, the man was chained to his chair, hands shackled, but with a long enough chain, where he could move his hands just enough to smoke a cigarette.
“The guards must have been in a good mood this morning.” Allan nodded at the cigarette, as he sat down across from Griffin. “Allan Shore,” he introduced himself, but did not hold out a hand, an unusual gesture on his part, as he normally always greeted everyone and anyone with a handshake.
“The courts appointed me, well, my firm to represent you.” Allan wasted no time in getting down to business. “So here I am, ready to proceed.” He pulled out Griffin’s case file and opened it with sharp movements. He had studied the case file the night before and was not at all happy that Paul Lewiston had foisted this murderer on him.
David Griffin had left a trail of bodies which began in LA, proceeded to Chicago, and made its way to Boston. His victims were mostly single, solitary women, although a FBI agent had been added to his crimes six years ago.
“So how do you wish to plead?” Allan finally looked into Griffin’s face, and inwardly frowned with disapproval. Long, unkempt dark hair and a scraggily beard gave the man a look of part hillbilly, part antigovernment terrorist.
“I’ve been looking for you and now I found you.”
“O-kay.” Allan heaved a sigh, damning Paul again for making him take this case. “Do you know who you are, and where you are?” he asked, figuring if he received another nonsensical answer, he’d ask the courts for a full battery of psychiatric tests with the hope that they’d find the man unfit for trial.
A grin spread over Griffin’s face, revealing surprisingly white, even teeth. “My name is David Griffin, and I’m here in the city of Boston’s detention center, charged with multiple homicides.”
“Fine,” Allan said, disappointed with Griffin’s rational answer. “And what year is it?” He couldn’t help but try again.
“2006,” Griffin answered. “It’s been six long years.”
“Six long years?”
“Since we last saw each other.” Griffin stubbed out his cigarette. “And oh how I’ve missed you, buddy.”
“One request for psychiatric tests coming up,” Allan muttered under his breath, as he hurriedly shoved Griffin’s file and notepad back in his briefcase. Standing up, he finally held out a hand. “I’ll be requesting a preliminary hearing as soon as the courts can fit us in. And as your lawyer I recommend that at that hearing you show up,” he paused as he gave Griffin a long, direct look. “Better groomed.”
Allan received another dazzling smile in response, as Griffin took his hand. “Of course. . .Counselor.”
Exiting the interrogation room, Allan was escorted out of the detention center by the same guard, who had walked him in.
“So what do you think of Boston’s new *celebrity*?” the guard asked. “The piano wire freak.” He referred to Griffin’s use of piano wire to strangle his victims.
“He’s a, and I believe the word that is used within the law enforcement community is, nut job.” Allan never discussed clients, or even potential clients with the guards, but today was different. The small talk relieved the uneasiness he was feeling since he first lay eyes on David Griffin. Giving his right hand a shake, he tired to ignore the tingling in it as he followed the guard back to the center’s main entrance.
**
“Ahh, Denny.” Allan stepped out onto Denny’s Crane’s private terrace. Being one of the named partners, Crane had a luxurious corner office with its own balcony. “You’re the sanity in an insane day.”
“Heard you’re defending that serial killer.” Removing the cigar from his mouth, Denny looked over his shoulder at Allan.
“Yes, Paul Lewiston, in all his wisdom, decided that I was the one most qualified to defend Griffin.” Stepping out into the moist, warm air of June, Allan grabbed a glass off of Denny’s portable bar.
“I wanted that case.” Denny settled back in his chair and resumed puffing on his cigar.
“Did you now?” Allan sat down next to Denny and reached for the bottle of Haig & Haig single malt scotch. He wasn’t surprised at his good friend’s admission because as the guard at the detention center had stated, the David Griffin case would be all over the media, and Denny loved the media.
“A case like that could make or break you,” Denny said, blowing out a couple of rings of smoke. “It needs to be handled carefully because all eyes will be on you.”
“Actually. . . .” Allan poured himself two fingers of scotch. “I’m hoping to sweep this case under the rug as quickly as possible before it becomes a media circus.”
“Really?” Denny looked over in wonder at Allan. It was beyond his comprehension why anyone would want to sweep a high publicity case under the rug. “And how do you plan to do that?”
“I believe David Griffin can be determined unfit to stand trial. I’ve put in a request to the Court for a psychiatric evaluation.”
“The guy’s nutso then,” Denny said in an unlawyerlike manner. “But I guess that shouldn’t surprise anyone.”
“No, it shouldn’t.” Allan stretched his legs out in front of him with a contented sigh. His evening chats with Denny were the favorite time of his day.
A comfortable minute or two passed before Denny chimed in with another thought. “You should have shot him.”
Allan smiled to himself; he had been waiting for Denny to suggest that. Recently it seemed that was Denny’s solution for anyone he found offensive. “I think I’ll pass and leave the shootings to you.”
**
June 8, 2006
Another evening sitting on Denny’s balcony, smoking cigars and drinking expensive scotch, but for once, Allan was not his usual contented self. The disquieting news that David Allen Griffin had escaped from Boston’s detention center had him jumpy and on edge.
“Would you like to come stay at my place?” Denny offered generously. The two had shared accommodations together on various occasions.
“Yes. . .no.” Allan was unsure. Denny’s offer was tempting, but lately many of his dreams involved his dear friend. . .in various erotic positions, which had him extremely confused. He had always considered himself very heterosexual, but his feelings toward Denny were becoming very unheterosexual.
“Well?” Denny raised his brows. “Which is it?”
“No,” Allan said decisively. It was better not to put himself in a situation with Denny and a bedroom. It only confused him, and it could lead to an end of a wonderful friendship. “I’m the last person David Griffin will be thinking about. If he’s smart, and I believe he is, he’s probably far away from the Boston area by now. After all, we know the man’s very crafty. Didn’t he elude the police and FBI for years?”
“But you, yourself said he was nutso. Who knows how a crazy, psychotic killer thinks?”
“Thank you, Denny.” Allan crossed one leg over the other with a sigh. “That’s a very comforting thought.”
“My offer still stands.” Denny poured himself another scotch. “And you know you’d be well protected at my house, since I own quite a few guns.”
**
It was so hot that he was sure his skin was melting off. He needed to escape the heat and flame, but he was high up and the only way out was to jump. Taking a deep breath, he deliberately did not look down, as he. . . .
“Hey, buddy.” Allan was awaken with a jolt, as strong arms pulled him down from his balcony’s railing. Still in the grip of his nightmare, he didn’t register at first just who was hauling him away from a certain death fourteen floors up.
“Had to get away,” he mumbled, as he was dragged back inside his bedroom. “It was hot, too hot.”
“Yeah, I remember, pal. Candles and kerosene, they made a lethal combination.”
“Wha-?” Alan blinked his eyes, trying to shake off the effects of his latest night terror. “What are you talking about?” he finally managed to blurt out, as his vision cleared, and he got his first good look at his rescuer. A clean-shaven, showered David Griffin stood before him.
“Just that I’ve sworn off playing with fire.”
Marshalling his thoughts, Allan took stock of the situation. It was late at night, and he had a serial killer in his home, a serial killer who had probably just saved his life. Deciding that candor would be his best strategy, he asked. “Why are you still here in Boston? Every law enforcement officer in the greater metropolitan area has your description.”
Grinning cockily, Griffin shrugged, unconcerned. “I’ve been outsmarting police for years now. They can’t catch me.”
“They just caught you,” Allan pointed out, as he was pushed down on his bed.
“Because I let them. It was the only way I could get to you.”
“But, of course,” Allan mumbled, as he reminded himself that not only was David Griffin a serial killer, but a truly nutso (Denny’s word) serial killer. Although there could be an argument that any serial killer equaled nutso. “Listen,” he started, trying to stand up, but the big body of Griffin was in his way. “As your attorney I need to advise you that. . . .”
“Save your breath, buddy.” David grabbed Allan by the shoulders and forced him down on his back. “I don’t need to hear your legal spiel.”
“Mr. Griffin!” Allan, now realizing that falling off his balcony wasn’t the only danger he faced, began to struggle, but he was totally outmatched. Not only was the other man bigger and stronger but was experienced in using violence. Allan’s only experience with violence was to pay someone else to do it for him. One hard knee to his genitals had him gasping in pain, and he ceased to struggle, as his tee shirt and boxers were ripped from him body.
“Meant to do this six years ago,” David muttered, as he tied Allan’s wrists together with a thin metal wire. “But I was sidetracked by that bitch, Polly, and then your stupid comment that I was just paperwork to you. Well, buddy. . . .” He easily turned Allan onto his stomach. “Let’s see if after this, you still consider me just paperwork.” Using both hands he spread Allan’s ass cheeks, and then lined himself and thrust in with no preparation nor lubrication.
Unable to stop himself, Allan let out a scream, as the intense pain spread from the point of entry to his entire body. Grabbing a pillow he buried his face into it, while a detached part of brain now realized the meaning of the words pillow-biter.
“Ahh, Jesus!” Griffin threw his head back, while pushing down on Allan’s shoulders. The tightness and heat, along with the knowledge that he finally got his prize was stripping him of all control. “I always knew you’d be a great fuck, pal.”
**
June 9, 2006
Sitting in Denny’s plush office, Allan’s was thankful that the police interrogation was being done at Crane, Poole & Schmidt instead of some dreary police station cubicle.
“So, around two am this morning David Griffin broke into your home and held you hostage?”
“That’s correct.” Allan sighed. He had already told his story to the Boston PD, now he had to retell it to the FBI. “He tied my hands together with wire.” He held out his arms, showing his enflamed, bruised wrists.
“And?” FBI Agent Kelso raised an eyebrow.
“And what?” Alan’s temper began to simmer. “An escaped serial killer breaks into my home and holds me captive. What more is there to tell?”
“Everything,” Kelso said. “How long did he hold you prisoner? Besides tying you up, what exactly did he do to you because. . . .” He leaned over to study Allan’s face. “I don’t see any other obvious evidence of bruises or wounds, but have you other injuries?”
Allan shifted uncomfortably, all too aware of a throbbing ache in his rectal area. He answered with a short, “no.”
“You called Boston PD at. . . .” Kelso did a quick check of his notes. “Approximately seven this morning. So what exactly did Griffin do between two and seven?”
“He talked,” Allan hedged, but then quickly added. “A lot.”
“For five hours he talked,” Kelso repeated with disbelief. “And just what did he talk about?”
“Mostly nonsense. He kept referring to events in that past like I had been there with him.”
“Really? Suddenly Kelso looked very interested. “Give me an example.”
“Well. . . .” Allan gathered his thoughts. “The problem is much of what he said was gibberish, but he did talk about fire, and how he wasn’t going to play with it anymore.”
“And?” Kelso prompted.
“And. . . .” Allan fumbled for something else to say. He had no intention of telling anyone about the rape, but despite his oratory skills, even he had to stretch, when having to lie about a five hour time period. “Something about candles and kerosene, oh, and he mentioned a woman named Polly.”
“Polly Beilman, a psychologist, who was kidnapped by Griffin and who almost perished in a fire set by him. A fire, by the way that killed one of ours.” Reaching behind him, Kelso picked up his briefcase. Opening it up, he rifled though it briefly and then pulled out an eight by ten color photo. “Joel Campbell,” he stated as he threw the picture down on the Denny’s desk. “Died by Griffin’s hand in 2000. He had been the lead agent on Griffin’s case for years, then retired and relocated to Chicago. Griffin followed him there, stalked him, and then murdered him.”
Picking up the photograph, Allan was stunned. The picture could have been of him. Campbell was almost identical in looks, except for hairstyle, and his build was slightly smaller. “My God!” The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them.
“Resemblance is uncanny, isn’t it?” Kelso stood up to look over his shoulder at the photo. “That must be why Griffin has such a fascination with you.”
The photo finally brought Denny back to Earth, as he leaned over to examine it. “My God!” he repeated Allan’s exclamation, as he looked up at his friend. “You never told me you were an FBI agent!”
**
Epilogue
Sitting alone on his balcony that evening, Allan was deep in thought. He had refused Denny’s invitation to stay with him, which had disappointed the older man immensely. Denny had relished the idea of ‘bunkering down’ against a serial killer. He had his plan of attack and what weapons would be used, all thought out. Allan shuddered. Denny with a pile of guns was almost as scary as David Griffin.
He had also refused police protection. A decision, which had surprised not only his co-workers at Crane, Poole & Schmidt, but himself. Why hadn’t he wanted someone to guard him against Griffin? Allan knew the answer, and that answer was causing him great inner turmoil.
Staring down at the glass in his hand, he replayed the memory over and over in his head. The memory of the earth shattering orgasm he experienced, while being fucked by David Griffin.
****
Finis