A/N: Yes, I started a new story! This wouldn't leave me alone, so I just had to start it.
This is a Detective!Brittana story, which I've always wanted to write.
Don't worry, Geography Club is still on the go.
I may not post further chapters of this story unless I get positive feedback, as these chapters are going to be miles longer than the chapters in GC, and also harder to write, so fingers crossed!
This is based on the TV Show 'Lie to Me'. It's a show about a scientist who helps the police in their investigations as he's incredibly talented in reading facial expressions and seeing people's emotions, and when they're lying.
Hope you guys like it, let me know if you do.
Disclaimer: I do not own Glee, or Lie to Me.
CHAPTER ONE
Sometimes, you feel like your whole life is driven by stress. Which is sort of true; you have stressful job, which has most to do with it. It also has to do with the fact you're just out of a six year long relationship, and you're incredibly bitter about it.
When people ask you to describe your job, you just get so uncomfortable. Not because you're ashamed of your job, but mostly because half of the people you meet think what you do is a load of crap.
Long story short, you work for the police. Your job is to talk to people accused of a crime, and read their facial expressions to see what they're feeling, and potentially if they're lying or not. You also have some incredibly long hours.
It may not sound very stressful, but it is. You learned that the hard way.
The good thing about it is, you possess your own company, and your office is a beautiful, modern building in Washington D.C.
Your alarm drags you out of your sleep. 5:30a.m. You groan, rubbing your eyes, and saunter towards the shower. You're not usually one to take cold showers, but you need it to wake yourself up.
You stand there under the freezing cold water drizzling on top of your head, watching as the droplets of water hit the glass, keeping your eye on them as they slide down the pane and finally hit the ground. You wonder if it's a metaphor for your own life, the water going so far down that it just disappears.
Your apartment is only a fifteen minute walk from work, so there's no worry about traffic. But, you're a workaholic. Sometimes you'll get to work for seven, and you'll leave at nine. Your co-worker, Quinn Fabray, often has to pull you kicking and screaming out of your desk chair.
It's April, so the weather is pretty okay. The sky is blue, with big, white, fluffy clouds taking up half the space. The walk to work is bearable today.
You storm through reception doors, flashing a brief smile at Rachel Berry, your receptionist, and towards the interrogation room, your cup of coffee in one hand, and your iPhone in the other. You really are not in the mood today for any of the meetings that are planned.
"Lopez," Fabray calls, speed walking up to you and shoving some files in your hands. "You know what you're interrogating this man for?"
You shake your head. "No, not really. I was sort of just hoping to figure that out in there, but I'm sure this huge bundle of paper is much better at explaining."
"Leroy Connors," Fabray starts, ignoring you. "He's charged with rape and murder of Sarah Banks, his fiancée. He keeps denying the accusations, but if my training is telling me correctly, everything he says is a lie."
You smile, feeling proud of Fabray. "Thanks, Quinn," you say. "I'll have this guy admitting to everything in under ten minutes."
Fabray shoots you a smile, already walking towards the reception doors. "I don't doubt it."
You follow her. "What are your plans for today?"
"Jones and I are checking out a case. Some kid was accused of murdering a classmate who was found dead outside of the school grounds."
"Is the kid innocent?"
Fabray nods. "Seems to be. Is your schedule busy for later?"
"I don't think so," you say. "After this interrogation, I don't think I have much. I might help you with this case you're on."
"Lopez, I can do it myself," Fabray whines. "The last time you got involved in one of my cases, you nearly got three police officers suspended."
"That's because I'm passionate about my job," you argue. "Plus, we caught the guy, didn't we?"
Fabray playfully waves you off. "Go into the interrogation room and do what you're best at."
The interrogation room wasn't a regular one. It consisted of a large, square glass container, where you kept all of the people to be questioned. Outside it, your colleagues, Evans and Zizes, assess the situation, looking at the interrogation through multiple cameras, zooming in on the person's face and trying to find any signs of lying that you may not catch.
It's rare occasion that you wouldn't notice an emotion on someone's face, but it has happened before, and you don't want to risk it.
"Do you want me to come in with you, Lopez?" Evans asks.
"I can handle this myself," you sigh. "Keep Puckerman on standby, just in case."
Puckerman's the police officer you kept around your office when you have an interrogation in process. He was only supposed to come once, but you grew fond of him and now he still works for you.
"Alright," you announce, taking a seat at the metal table, looking at the man in front of you. "Let's begin and end this before lunch. I didn't have time for breakfast this morning."
You read the piece of paper in front of you. "There's no need for me to go over what happened, I already read the file. What I want to know is why you, Mr Connors, raped and killed your fiancée."
You sit there, waiting for a response, but you don't get one.
"Was I too blunt?" you ask. "I can be even more blunt." You reach into the bag on the chair beside you and pull out a picture of the crime scene, the woman dead on the ground, blood surrounding her body. The picture is pretty sickening, but your face remains expressionless.
"I didn't do it," the man says, his eyes flicking down at the photo on the table in front of him. "I don't care what your stupid, fucking weird lying instincts are telling you. I didn't do it."
"That," you smirk, "is one huge lie. If you didn't do those things to that woman, your face would have shown sadness, or disgust when you saw the picture. But, what I got from you was pride, and elation." You rub your hands together, settling in your seat. "I'm just gonna explain what I do here to you, because obviously you have no respect for it. You may think your face is pretty expressionless right now, but all these little things called micro-expressions flicker across your face to show what you're really feeling. Now, these micro-expressions remain on your face for less than a second. But, I'm trained to catch them. Nothing can get past me."
Leroy stands up abruptly. Not only can you see anger in his face, but the bones and muscles in his neck pop out for a second, signalling pure fury. "I did not kill or rape Sarah. She was the love of my life."
There is a small silence, before you lean back in your chair, shrugging slightly. "Okay. I believe you."
You watch as a small smile appears on Leroy's face for a split second. It was a tiny flick of his lips to one side, but it was enough to grab your attention. "Now, that's interesting."
Leroy frowns. "What?"
"You see, when a person's lie is being believed, they show a brief micro-expression of happiness. Which is what you just showed. You're lying your little murdering ass off."
"I did not kill Sarah," Leroy yells, taking a step back. "I'm not gonna sit here and listen to you make accusations at me for something I didn't do."
You smirk. "You just stepped backwards, you see."
"Yeah, so?"
"That indicates that you have absolutely no confidence in what you just said," you tell him. "You also used the words 'did not' instead of 'didn't', which almost definitely signals a big fat whopper. You're giving your speech too much thought. If you didn't kill her, you'd be so overcome by emotion, it would just come out. The words 'do not' usually don't come naturally."
Leroy remains silent, scoffing slightly.
"Don't believe me?" you ask. "Do you remember Clinton's speech, 'I did not have sexual relations with that woman'? Ring any bells?"
Leroy bites his lower lip, telling you everything you already knew.
You stand up, facing him, looking him in the eye. "You may as well admit to it now, Mr Connors. Make our lives a whole lot easier. Well, mine, not yours. You'll be in jail, regardless."
"I loved her," Leroy yells, putting his hands behind is back.
You hesitate, before smiling. "You put your hands behind your back, Mr Connors. In body language speak, that means you have something to hide. Also, you did not break eye contact with me once. I know it's universally thought that eye contact means the truth, but that's just a myth. You're trying too hard to convince me that you're not lying."
Leroy crosses his arms over his chest, slowly sitting back down.
You point at his arms. "That shows that you're getting defensive." You sit back down, smirking at him and crossing your legs. "Call me a show off, but I'm just good at what I do. I can do this all day."
Leroy sits back in his chair, looking pretty upset.
You lean forward after a lengthy silence. "Did you know that the average person tells about, three lies per ten minute's conversation? We've been here two minutes and you've told about thirty."
Leroy remains silent.
"Was the reason for your committing murder do to with the fact that your wife was having an affair?" you ask calmly.
The man's eyes widen for around a tenth of a second. Real, true surprise.
"Interesting," you comment. "That was genuine shock, right there. You had no clue about the affair." You rest your elbows on the cold steel in front of you. "You know, at this point I don't even care why you killed her. Where's the body buried? We can do this the easy way or the hard way. The easy way being you just telling me so we can avoid more time in this room with each other, or the hard way being me dragging it out of you, without you even having to say a word. Because I know you did it, Mr Connors. I'm not going back on that."
Leroy didn't move a muscle.
"Okay," you smile. "The hard way it is." You settle back in your seat, sipping your coffee. You briefly look at his details on the sheet of paper in front of you. "The lake a mile from your home?"
The man just stares at you.
"Nah, too easy," you shrug. "Your backyard?"
Nothing.
You look him right in the eye. "It says here in your home description that you got an extension on your house in the past two years. So, how about under the ground in your basement." It was more of a statement.
Once again, there's nothing. Then, Leroy gulps.
"Got it," you shout, jumping up and opening the door, looking down at Evan's and Zizes. "Did you get that?"
Zizes nods frantically. "The FBI are already on their way, boss."
You nod, before turning around and smile widely and sarcastically at Leroy, who looks panicked and defeated. "Have fun in prison."
You're at your desk, going through paperwork of current cases when you get a message that comes through your desk phone. "Your 2 o'clock is here, Ms Lopez," Berry tells you.
You frown, scrolling through the calendar on your laptop. "I didn't have a 2 o'clock scheduled."
"Well, she's here. Some woman to be interviewed for the position of your assistant."
"Oh," you breathe, mentally groaning. "I forgot about that. Send her through."
You briefly look around your office, looking to see if it was in the right state to hold an interview. You have to admit, you have a beautiful office; a glass desk, with a computer and an abundance of notebooks on it. There's a whole wall covered in pictures of different people with different expressions, doodled on by you with a marker of where each expression was hidden. Plus, there is a giant big screen facing that wall to present findings to the police.
You hear a faint knock on your door, and you clear your throat, shifting a few pieces of paper around on your desk. "Come in."
A tall, blonde woman enters the room, smiling at you. She's wearing a tight, short pencil skirt, a white blouse and has a grey blazer the same colour as her skirt draped across one arm. She has blonde hair put up in a bun and light makeup on. Simply put, she's gorgeous.
Her heels clicking on the floor, she walks towards the desk, grinning widely. She holds her hand out to you.
You stand up and grip it firmly. "Good morning."
The woman sits down opposite you. "Nice to meet you, Ms Lopez. I'm Brittany Pierce."
"Nice to meet you too," you smile, taking a seat. You hold your hand out to her, asking silently for her resume, and she gives it to you.
You skim through it, making small noises of approval. "I see you've worked for the police before," you comment. You set the papers down on the desk. "But, I want to hear from you, why you think you'd be good for this job."
"I've worked in many offices before as assistants," Brittany tells you. "I have a lot of experience in that field."
"Why did those previous jobs not work out?" you ask.
"Two of them were in my dad's office when I was just starting out, no qualifications, just trying to make a bit of cash for the summer. The rest didn't work out because I moved around a lot. But I'm settled here now."
"Okay, good," you smile.
"I'm also incredibly intrigued as to what you do here," Brittany informs you.
You raise an eyebrow. "Explain."
"Well, I don't mean to sound blunt, but I'm not sure I'm sold on this whole thing, and I want to see what it's all about. I was hoping this interview could also turn into a sort of field trip."
You almost laugh. "Are you serious?"
Brittany shrugs. "I mean, I'm good with reading facial queues, but I don't understand how a whole company can be based on that."
"And you decide to start off an interview for a job here with that comment?" you challenge. "You know, you could have come here and seen what it was about without going for the job."
"Oh," Brittany gasps. "No. I want the job. Sorry, I have no filter. I want the job because this place intrigues me. I just want a little bit more proof that this whole lying thing is completely accurate and true."
"Right." You smirk, sensing a challenge. "You want me to show you how good I am at this?"
Brittany nods. "Please."
"My pleasure," you say, crossing your legs. This is going to be fun. "You find me attractive."
Brittany briefly looks surprised, before raising an eyebrow. "How can you tell?"
"Not only are your pupils fully dilated, which is pretty much a sign of arousal known by everyone, but your whole body is pointing in my direction. Also, every time you finish a sentence, you bite your lower lip. You couldn't be more obvious."
Brittany smiles. "Impressive."
You pick up Brittany's CV, handing it back to her. "Although I'm flattered, I want to remain professional with a potential colleague. But, judging by your resume, your experience and your genuine interest in this company, I think you should be expecting good news."
Brittany's face lights up. "Wow, thanks."
You stand up and walk her to the door. You shake her hand and smile warmly. "It was nice to meet you, Ms Pierce. I'll be in touch."
You drag yourself towards your desk and collapse in your chair. Your day barely began and you already feel exhausted.
You're almost about to dose off when a light knock on your door pulls you back into reality. "What?"
"We need your help here, Lopez," Fabray informs you, walking down to you. "I know you have a lot on your mind right now with the new assistant and the Leroy Connors case-"
You wave her off. "There is no Leroy Connors case. Sorted that in less than five minutes. FBI are finding his wife's body as we speak."
Fabray smiles, not looking in the least bit surprised. "Wow. Good job. How's the possible new assistant?"
You shrug. "She seemed to have no belief in what we do. I literally had to prove it to her in order to get her to take my word for it."
"So I take it you're still on the hunt?"
"No," you say. "I think I might hire her."
Fabray raises an eyebrow, so you continue.
"She seemed genuinely interested in what we do, plus a person who questions everything, including authority, and going by their gut instinct is the type of person we need around here."
Fabray nods. "I agree."
You stand up and walk towards the door, beckoning for Quinn to follow you. "You had something to run by me?"
"Oh, yes. Evans is questioning someone new in the interrogation room and needs your help. He wants you to take over."
"What's the case?" you ask.
Fabray pulls a file out of her bag, handing it to you. "Drugs. This man on the file, Derek Moran, is a local drug dealer, and we're trying to find out who he works for so we can ultimately get to the drug lord."
"And you couldn't do it yourself?" you scoff. "I spent two years training you, Fabray. I hope to think you'd have the skills to sort out a simple case like this."
Fabray comes to a halt outside of the interrogation room. "This man won't talk, Lopez. I can't get anything out of him. Even Evans can't, and I think he's a little better at this than I am."
You shake your head disapprovingly. "You don't need him to speak. His face does all the talking for him. I'll be ten minutes tops in here. Can you get Puckerman to come in with me?"
"Sure, I'll call for him this second."
You enter the square, glass room, smiling widely at the young man in front of you. "Good morning, Mr Moran."
Derek just sits there, silent.
You take a seat in front of him, still smiling. "This is going to be fun, isn't it?"
The man stares at you, stony faced.
You love playing games with the people you're interrogating, so you pick up the file and open it, practically shoving it in Derek's face. "You see this file right here, Mr Moran? This file has a list of every known drug lord in the area known by the FBI. I was originally just going to find out who you work for, but why do that when I can simply find out who the drug lord is in less than five minutes?" You smirk, crossing your right leg over the left. "I'm going to list the drug lords, and I'm going to study your face and body language as I do so. Sounds simple?"
Derek doesn't respond once again.
Noah Puckerman walks in slowly, smiling slightly and nodding at you before standing by the door, his focus straight ahead of him.
You put your focus on the file in front of you. "Simon Hammond."
Nothing happens.
"Timothy Mullins."
No.
"Phil Nolan."
Still nothing.
"George Goodman."
Derek clenches his fist.
You look up at Puckerman. "George Goodman."
Puckerman is already out the door. "Got it, boss."
You smirk at Derek. "Thanks, sweetie." You pinch his cheek as you walk out.
"You need to get better at this, Fabray," you shout down to her, as she's deep in conversation with Rachel at reception. "Your skills are useless."
You strut down the corridor towards your office.
Sometimes, your job is pretty awesome.
