Coulson stood over Agent Sitwell’s shoulder as he reviewed video feeds.
“For some reason all security cameras inside city limits were off last night,” Sitwell shook his head.
“What about today?” Coulson asked with urgency. “Specifically at the crowd surrounding the work site this morning.”
“Excuse me,” a female agent interrupted, sticking her head through the tent door, “But we have a positive I.D. on the body.”
“Good,” Coulson said and took the tablet from her. He faced Sitwell and read the report.
“Ronne Gorman. This is the guy who went on a killing rampage when everything started going to hell a few months back,” he said, showing Sitwell the picture.
“Looks like we don’t have to worry about him anymore,” Sitwell concurred.
“But that leaves the question, was it planned, or a coincidental murder?” Coulson mused. “I’m going to guess whoever left that bracelet was a woman, and I’m also going to go ahead and assume that she was the one driving the car last night.”
“I’m guessing you already know who?” Sitwell asked.
“I do,” Coulson said, rummaging in his pocket. He pulled out his wallet and produced a small, crinkled picture. “And when you get those security tapes running, look for an adult version of this girl.”
Sitwell stared at it for a moment, then turned the picture over and held it back up as if Coulson had never seen it before.
“Why don’t I just look up this girl?” Sitwell asked slowly.
“Because her funeral was almost 15 years ago,” Coulson answered as he opened the tent door.

---

Director Fury placed his elbows on the desk and laced his fingers.
“This isn’t like you, Agent Coulson,” he stated flatly. “I cannot believe that any group of SHIELD agents can work an entire day and find no evidence whatsoever to find out who killed Gorman or why.”
“I’m sorry sir. We’ve run receipts from bars in the city and surrounding areas and found. A bartender 20 minutes from the crash remembers seeing Gorman with a woman but doesn’t remember anything about her that would be of use in pinpointing a suspect,” Coulson detailed.
“Agent Sitwell says you believe this woman to be the one we need,” Fury said, sliding a print of one of the security videos. Coulson didn’t even look at it. He pulled the photo out of his wallet again and showed it to Fury. He ground his teeth as the director handled the worn paper, turning words over in his mouth.
“Eden Turner,” he finally spoke. “We all used to call her Denny. Cute girl. She was a niece of mine, a couple of times removed.”
“Was?” Fury repeated.
“That’s the last picture she ever took,” Coulson elaborated. “It was at a family reunion that took place in a lodge somewhere in the mountains, I can’t quite remember. Maybe in the southern states. But one night she disappeared. I can remember everyone looking for her when we got word that the manager turned himself in. Said he’d killed her but wouldn’t give details. Everyone gave up looking after three months and held a funeral service.”
Coulson pulled the bracelet, which he had purposely kept out of evidence, from his pocket.
“We found this today. It was put in the car after it burned out. There is a charm on it that I gave to Denny that same week. I’m sure this is Denny’s bracelet, and on top of that, I saw her near the scene.”
“You’re positive?” Fury asked. “Because finding someone who is dead is going to be hella difficult.”
“I’m willing to bet everything I have that I saw Denny today, and that she’s responsible for this,” Coulson assured. “I don’t know why she would, but it’s been a very long time since I’ve seen her. And to be honest with you sir, I’m anxious to find her and catch up.”
“Noted.” Fury leaned back in his seat. “But don’t let it impede you from focusing on more important matters.”
“Of course.”
Coulson took back the photograph and left Fury’s office. With all that was on his mind he almost didn’t hear his name called down the hall.
“Coulson!”
“Agent Barton, shouldn’t you be in the field?”
“Hello to you, too,” Hawkeye greeted as he caught up. “I was recalled after my target turned up, you know, incinerated.”
“Well, if it’s any consolation to you, we’ve been working over time and still don’t have any answers as to why,” Coulson remarked.
“The only consolation I have is that he probably screamed himself to death before the fire could end him,” Barton said with the hint of a smile, which had the appearance of a grimace. “Serves the bastard right. But that isn’t what I wanted to talk about.”
“Tell me on the way to the hanger,” Coulson instructed. Barton faltered.
“The hanger?” he asked. “Why…”
“I’m going back to try and get some answers,” Coulson explained in short.
“And you can’t do that at Base?”
“This is something I need to research personally,” Coulson asserted. “At this point, the only information we may have is based on one uncertainty, and if I’m wrong about who killed Gorman, then we’re back to square one.”
“Aaand, that’s what I was going to ask,” Barton tuned. “Rumor has it that a relative of yours is involved.”
“It’s amazing how fast personal information travels on this Helicarrier,” Coulson remarked. “Just think of how functional SHIELD would be if missions assignments or critical intel traveled just as fast between agents.”
“So it’s true, then.”
“You should know better than to rely on rumors, Agent Barton,” Coulson half-heartedly scolded. He swiped his card and strode towards a Quinjet. “Nothing is true as of yet.”

Notes