"I'll need your name for the record please."
The little whirring recorder clicked to life, capturing the interview. The girl, maybe in her early twenties, stared ahead emotionlessly.
"Lauren Cypher." She said in a monotone.
The interrogator, a pretty, petite women with dark hair and glasses, sighed almost imperceptibly. "Your, full name please."
Lauren's face remained completely blank. "Lauren Emily Cypher." Her eyes scanned the policewomen, taking in the cut of her suit and the styling of her hair. Her focus flicked to her badge, but nothing else moved. The officer shifted in her seat, uncomfortable under the laser like gaze of this robot of a girl.
She cleared her throat. "Yes, well. Lauren, where were you last night between the hours of 9 and 11 PM?"
Lauren's demeanor switched so quickly that if you had blinked you would have missed it. Her hair suddenly covered one and eyes and one side of her mouth crooked up in a sultry manner. She leaned forward and curved her back, raising one eyebrow. She leaned closer to the cop's ear, letting her breathe coast along her skin.
"Certainly not where I would have preferred to be." She whispered, her voice low and seductive. The police women shivered and leaned in as Lauren drew back slowly, before her eyes shot open and she shoved her chair backwards so hard that she nearly toppled backwards. She quickly gathered up her papers as she tried to gather up her composure.
"Well Mrs. Cypher," She stood up, papers shoved haphazardly under one arm, "That was most inappropriate."
Lauren laughed, lazily propping her feet up on the table and regaining her sultry smirk before winking at the officer and blowing her a kiss as she hurried out the door. The minute the door closed her act dropped. Her lips returned to neutral, the sexy glint disappearing from her eyes. She repositioned herself in her chair, once again a blank slate, her eyes fixed on the mirror on the far wall.
The small collection of officers on the other side stared back at, knowing that she couldn't see them but at the same time getting the unnerving feeling that she was looking straight at them. A tall, muscled commander broke the silence.
"Who's next?"
"Jenkins." The women officer entered, leafing through her papers and refusing to look anyone in the eyes. Jenkins got up slowly, making his way to the door. The other officers moved out of his way in the small room. Someone whispered,
"I didn't know she was a lesbian."
Lauren didn't blink as the door creaked open, Jenkins gently closing it behind him.
"So," he smiled at her, "you are…" he glanced down at his paper, "Lauren!" He was a rounder man, with a friendly smile and a chubby face, his head starting to bald. Lauren's emotionless eyes quickly flitted over his hair, eyes, smile, and clothes, processing it as quickly as possible. She knew that the sooner she got it down the more effective it would be.
He scanned her information. "1st degree murder charges. That's some pretty serious stuff. You're in pretty deep here kid."
He looked up as he heard a muffled sob. All of the sudden her head was buried in her hands, shoulders shaking and breathing ragged as she cried.
"I-I'm s-s-sorry," she choked out, tears pouring down her face, "I'm just s-so tired and I'm sc-c-cared. I didn't- I would never- I j-just wanna go home."
Jenkins looked helpless, staring across at this crying child who looked so much younger and smaller than his papers said she was. Her sobs quieted slightly, and she looked up at him, eyes red.
"I j-just wanna go home." She looked so defeated, slumped on the table, handcuffs rattling on her skinny wrists, "I miss my family. The-ey don't even know where I am." She looked down in shame, "I left on my 18th birthday. I haven't even c-called."
Jenkins broke, reaching across the table to grab one of her hands.
"I believe you okay?" he smiled again, "I believe you."
The door swung open suddenly.
"Jenkins!" A voice barked, "You are dismissed."
Jenkins head shot towards the door and he blinked rapidly for a moment, looking confused. Then he slowly looked back at the girl, whose features had lost their hopelessness, and her face was as blank and cold as ice. He slowly got up from the table and, still staring, moved out of the room.
Several hours and several officers later, all the cops were clustered around the small break room table, discussing their options.
"We just keep interrogating!" A large, burly man said, slamming his fist onto the table for emphasis.
A tall skinny man sighed and adjusted his square framed glasses. "You mean we start. No one has actually managed to get any interrogating done." Several people looked down in shame, all having tried and failed to squeeze anything out of her.
The chief listened to the argue as he picked at his stale doughnut, thinking. He looked up slowly and cleared his throat. All heads turned his way.
"Obviously," he began, looking at them all, "our current, usual, tactics aren't working. We might need to look at more, unconventional methods."
A few people looked around nervously, unsure of what he meant by "unconventional". A few muttered in protest.
He laughed at their weariness, "Not torture you dimwits, I haven't lost my mind." Everyone sighed in relief. "I'm thinking of calling in a specialist of a sorts. I'll let you all know tomorrow. Someone move her to a holding cell, you are all dismissed."
The officers filed out of the break room, one by one packing up their stuff and heading home for the night until the office was dark, the chief's lamp the only light left in the room. He sighed, before reaching for the phone and dialing up an old friend.
It rang a few times before he picked up.
"Lestrade."
"Hey Greg. It's Kevin Benchley. I need to call in a favor."
"Shoot."
"You know that freaky detective guy you've got?"
"Sherlock?"
"I'm going to need to borrow him."