"...and so you see, Mr. Blackquill, I wish I could tell you more, but I really can't think of what would have motivated Mr. Herr to do such a thing, let alone to Mr. Ecsprest. I've known both of them since I started here two years ago, and neither of them have caused even a spot of trouble."
"And that is what will be revealed in court, I assure you of that." Simon nods to the human resources director. "I thank you for your time and for being so forthcoming, Ms. Prior-Stewart."
"Please contact me as soon as you find out more, or if you have any questions." Ms. Prior-Stewart recites her personal number to Simon, who jots it down. "And feel free to call me Ursula. I have a feeling this won't be the last time we speak."
Simon rises from his seat in Ms. Prior-Stewart's office, and tucks his inkpen away so he can shake her hand goodbye. "Thank you again, Ursula. I or the police will be in touch."
What he doesn't divulge is that she may, in fact, end up being a key witness. Though she didn't see the moment of the crime, Ms. Prior-Stewart was, as far as Simon has been able to pinpoint, the last person who spoke to either the defendant or the victim before Mr. Fred Errol Ecsprest's bloodied corpse was found locked within the rear compartment of Mr. Herr's delivery truck.
Striding confidently from her office, Simon's footsteps echo through the empty lobby as he returns to the elevators. He hopes the police have made some progress, then subsequently can't believe he has to hope as opposed to being certain of it. Of course, he can not be certain about it as he had been swiftly exiled from the scene not ten minutes after arriving with Detective Fulbright.
Fulbright had accompanied Simon around the immediate crime scene, showing him the outline of where the body had lain. But as soon as Simon had started asking questions more thorough than what the case brief had apprised him of, Fulbright had become somewhat irritable with him, trying to explain how they needed time to have everything analyzed properly, so why didn't Simon make better use of his time and speak to what few staff members were present? Learn about the victim, and the defendant, and just the general atmosphere of the post office or any strange events that may have preceded this heinous crime.
He can't say he disagrees with Fulbright's instruction, but how is Simon supposed to refine his own process if he is constantly being bossed about? He could have easily made that decision on his own, and did not need some great blighter of a detective to do so for him.
Said blighter is easy to pick out, his long blond hair a beacon in the dock's dingy gray atmosphere. Another officer is beside him, communicating something important enough that Fulbright is scribbling it down in a notebook with—Simon can't distinguish it entirely from this distance, but he thinks it features a puppy dog of some type on its cover.
For pity's sake.
"Detective Fulbright...?" Simon calls, and it comes out hardly authoritative or even very loudly. Fulbright gives no sign of having heard him, and Simon partially hopes no one did, for how pathetic he sounded.
Suddenly, he is frozen with... not fear, but this murkiness low in his stomach. His folio notebook is clutched to his chest possessively and his other hand rises to meet it, lingering at his wrist and idly fingering the yellow elastic Athena has a matching orange one of.
Dammit, no; he is a prosecutor now, not simply a student of law. There is no room for this pitiful insecurity; he has earned his place here, no matter how insignificant he's been made to feel throughout the majority of his life.
He watches as Fulbright and the officer end their conversation and Fulbright's beaming smile finds him. Simon tries to smile back, to acknowledge him, but annoyance both at himself and the situation only manage to twist his lips into a crooked grimace.
"Oh, hello Sir! Back so soon, I see!" Fulbright's gaze drops a hair, onto Simon's habitual plucking of the elastic. Having not realized he was still doing so, Simon stops abruptly and clears his throat.
"Yes, I have vital information to share with you. I was able to speak with the human resources director, a Ms. Ursula Prior-Stewart, and have determined that it is highly likely she was the last person, other than the defendant, to see Mr. Ecsprest alive."
"Of course you did. You're the prosecutor!" There's this placating way Fulbright says it, that Simon expects him to whip out a sheet of gold stars, press one happily to Simon's lapel much like Athena and Juniper enjoy decorating Aura's tools in their many stickers.
"Yes, well, then have you anything to report back to me?"
"I do, Sir! I have some notes here about the victim!" He removes a folded stack of papers from behind the notebook cover. Which, Simon can now confirm, does display the photo of a German shepherd puppy.
The notes are stapled together, four pages, exactly the same as the ones currently stored in Simon's folio. "I've seen these already."
"Okay. Then, maybe it wouldn't hurt to go over them again?" Fulbright all but shoves them in Simon's face, which is enough for Simon to rip them away and immediately begin scanning them. "Sir, I meant somewhere that's not he—"
Simon glares at Fulbright over the top of the papers. "Have you found the murder weapon yet?"
"Huh?"
"The murder weapon, Fulbright." Simon shakes the notes at Fulbright in what's meant to be a threatening manner. "The cause of death was loss of blood, due to a severed femoral artery, and there's no mention of any particulars of the blade used."
"Well, we haven't found the actual weapon yet, but—"
"What?"
"The post office's investigative squad are gonna transfer their preliminary findings to us. They're just waiting for a few more test results, but we'll have that information soon, don't you worry! Right now we're trying to determine just how the victim suffered such a deep wound to his thigh; it's not easy to stab someone so directly that low on their body."
"Clearly, between Mr. Ecsprest's many bruises and Mr. Herr's broken hand, a struggle took place between them. Perhaps they wrestled about on the ground. It would not be out of the realm of possibility that while Mr. Herr's strike was intentional, the severity and exact target were not necessarily so."
Confusion creases Fulbright's brows fractionally. He pauses before answering, voice lowering slightly when he does. "There's no signs of a struggle here, Sir."
"There are truly no signs, or your crew is too sluggish and incompetent to determine it? What the bloody hell have you been doing in the past hour, that you haven't anything new or insightful to report!"
"Sir, no offense, but you haven't given us much of a chance. And standing around here arguing with me... you're kind of just..." Detective Fulbright motions about dock, teeming with busy officers. "...You're in the way."
"I have to investigate at some point. Unless you are trying to prevent me from observing a slipshod job of your own investigation; is that why you refuse to let me search the area? I can think of no other reason."
"Sir!... can you just..." Fulbright sighs heavily and combs his fingers through his hair. It's useless, as his loose style flops back into place. "I know what I'm doing, what I need to look for, and there's not much for you to see until we gather more evidence and information, and the analyses come back! And, y'know, you don't have a lot of room to be so demanding. Honestly, you could stand to be more polite, with it being your first case."
How dare this detective reprimand him! He actively attempts to clip back the anger bubbling inside him, but it bites into some of his words.
"I could be more polite? I've been nothing but courteous to you! You insist on speaking to me as if I'm a child, what, with your"—Simon affects a drippingly fake positivity to his voice—"'I'm the lead detective! Nice to meet you!' rubbish. To be quite frank, it's disrespectful."
Fulbright stares at him, as if giving him a chance to revise his statement. Then he speaks evenly, without the overly chipper tone Simon's heard this whole time.
"You wouldn't even shake my hand."
Is that what this is about? Simon can hardly remember the detective extending his hand, but after a couple moments' reflection, it comes back to him. He hadn't meant to be dismissive, with how stricken with shock he'd been, attempting to reconsider how this investigation was going to unfold.
Was this Bobby Fulbright that sensitive? And that much of navel-gazer, to not even step outside his own self and consider how anyone other than himself might handle such a monumental shift to the onset of their career?
"I was not trying to offend you. And if it were the other way around—that I were an emergency replacement that took you by surprise—I would not have wasted precious time being so affronted if you'd failed to, in my perception, greet me properly."
There. An apology. Now it's Fulbright's turn, and they can both, as Aura likes to tell Simon quite frequently "build a bridge and get over it."
But Fulbright shows no registration of Simon's words, nor does he say anything at all. And then, for some inexplicable reason, his expression stretches with the same wide smile Simon was originally greeted with. Quite literally what he'd just explicitly advised Fulbright he found disingenuous to the point of being patronizing.
Simon can't stand being subjected to it. His voice is hushed, but heated. "Wipe that grin off your face."
"No can do, Sir! Justice is always best served with a smile!"
"And what basis do you have for that?"
"Haha! Because as your partner, that's what I've decided." He says this resolutely, and so cheerfully that it grates on Simon's ears like fingernails down a chalkboard. It is insulting, this overdrawn agreeableness from a grown adult—a supposedly trained detective—investigating a homicide.
Detective Fulbright is intimidated by Simon's presence. Can not withstand being monitored so scrupulously and given direction that contradicts the manner in which he chooses to conduct the investigation. It's obvious to Simon, in just this short span of time, that Fulbright's demeanor is overcompensating for a lack of ability or even the thinnest strand of intelligence.
He can see no other logical explanation.
"You are not my partner; you are a replacement, and you would do well to remember that."
Simon doesn't even wait to see if his words have their intended effect, of erasing Fulbright's aggravating grin. He storms out of the dock for the second time in as many hours.
If Fulbright wants to be in charge? Then Fulbright can be in charge.
Simon is a fair man; Fulbright has to be given a chance, just as he likely feels he's offering one to Simon in return. But when Fulbright falls on his own sword (a sword of justice, Simon presumes, from how often he's already heard the word uttered), Simon will not exalt him as a hero or even a faithful ally.
Only a fool. A starry-eyed, sloppily-dressed fool.
A Fool Bright.
