1.2

"Tell me again why I agreed to do this."

I'm not sure why, but I think I like the feel of the precinct. It's delightfully crammed and busy; it almost reminds me of a train station, all wooden desks and human beings. Aiden slides her way between two of them, and I have to trot to keep up with her. I feel distinctly out of place in my jeans and Ganesha T-shirt. The only people in plainclothes around here are more than likely in handcuffs.

"Because you owe me big-time for checking out Graham Lockyer." She snags a folder from the end of a desk and passes it back to me without looking at it. "There's enough for your girl to file a restraining order against her stepfather here. Shouldn't be too hard if you're her advocate."

There are photographs of Minzy. Minzy with bruises. Minzy with a broken wrist. Minzy with her lip swelled up and with blood leaking from a cut on her arm. It's a knife cut, not a tear from catching her wrist on a nail, like the report says. I wonder why this wasn't registered before, and if that cut is why Minzy always wears those rainbow arm-warmers. If there are other cuts.

Anger boils in my stomach. I shove the file into my bag and make a mental note to call my lawyer. Now Minzy's lawyer. You're going down, you son of a bitch.

"Yo, Danny!" Aiden jerks a thumb back at me, yanking me out of my fantasy of breaking Graham Lockyer's nose. And arms. And possibly clawing his face off. "We have a psychologist."

"Fabulous." Danny turns out to be one of the detectives, dressed a little less formally than the rest – I relax a little – with glasses and a bit of a flirty edge to the smile he sends me. I ignore it. Short job. Get in, watch the interview, get out. Simple. Working with coy detectives is definitely not on the agenda. "So this is the mythical Bridget. We thought Aiden made you up."

"Would I lie to you?" Aiden tugs on my pigtail, like we're both in high school. Or grade school. "I told ya she lives."

"Clearly." Danny grins. "I'd shake your hand, you bein' a living legend and all, but Aiden'd probably break my arm off if I tried."

I laugh in spite of myself. Aiden does look about ready to break his elbow. So much for pairing me off with the guy.

"Bridget Carter," I say, shaking his hand anyway. It's warm and callused, and Danny sends a triumphant look at Aiden, who rolls her eyes.

"We know." A dark-haired man smacks the back of Danny's head with a file, ignoring his curse. "Once you get her started, Aiden won't shut up about you."

"And she's been telling you what?"

"Oh, loads of things." The dark-haired detective glances at me, and his mouth quirks a little. His eyes are incredibly blue. It's hard to look into them for too long; I can feel the hairs on the back of my neck rising.

"Shut up, Flack." Aiden takes his file, and the spell's broken. I wait until Flack turns away to let out a breath. What the hell was that? "Point is, we got our psychologist, so can we get this over with, please?"

Flack looks from me to Aiden and back again. "She's the psychologist?"

I bristle. "Is there something wrong with that?"

"Not exactly." His eyes flick over me, considering, and then he turns to Aiden again. "He's in interview room four. She's –" he jerks a thumb in my direction "– just observing. We're not sticking a civilian in that room. We clear?"

Aiden scoffs. "You're whacked if you think I'm putting her in the same room with that guy. If she doesn't stay in the observation room, then I'mthe one who's gonna kick her ass for it."

"Trust me, whoever the hell you want me to observe, I'm not going to be going into the same room with him." It's common sense for a civilian consultant. "And I wanna make it clear that this is a one-time thing, okay? I can't afford to get wrapped up in police work again."

"You were a cop?" Danny looks surprised.

"Tucson CSI," Aiden answers for me, handing me the case file. I open it, and the photos draw my eye the way that only blood can. "She works at the Safe House now."

"The Safe House, that's…that's that place for homeless kids, right?" When I blink at Flack, he shrugs. "I've sent some kids over there once or twice. Aiden never mentioned you worked there though."

"I'm the assistant director." I shuffle through the photographs, ignoring the bloodstains. It's precisely why I didn't want to do this; I'd started working at the Safe House to avoid this, not throw myself right back into it. "What are we looking at here?"

"Double homicide in Staten Island a couple weeks ago. Finally picked up a break in the case when the gun used cropped up in a drug store robbery, but the guy who used it isn't talking." They've shifted into cop mode now, and it's almost frightening. I can pick Aiden out of Detective Burn, but it's a challenge. "Evidence points his way. We need a confession. That, or a hint that we're barkin' up the wrong tree."

"And that's where I come in."

"And that's where you come in." Aiden claps me on the shoulder. "I have to pick up my headphones, and then we can go. You said room four?"

"I can take her," Danny says. Aiden shoots him a gimlet-eyed look, and then nods once, glancing at me.

"He'll flirt shamelessly. Ignore him."

"I think I can take care of myself."

She snorts. "Yeah. Sure. Flack, keep an eye on her."

"What, you don't trust me?" Danny puts a hand to his chest. "That hurts, Aiden. Really hurts. In my heart."

"Thought you didn't have one," says Aiden, smirking, and then she vanishes into the crowd of detectives, leaving me with a pair of cops. It's heaps of awkward, and I keep my eyes focused on the file. Even though the victims are staring back at me, it's still safer than hanging around here for much longer.

"So," Flack says, and stands up straighter. "Let's go."

Interview room four is to the back of the station, away from most of the noise and the bustle. It's all concrete back here, and I wonder if it's supposed to be cold; I rub my arms surreptitiously. Danny and Flack don't seem to notice the temperature. They've probably been back here so many times that it's an automatic adjustment for them.

"That's our guy." Flack jerks his head towards the two-way mirror. The guy sitting at the table can't be more than eighteen, and I wonder if that's why Aiden brought me here in the first place. My work with the Safe House probably gives me a bit of an advantage here.

I check the photograph in the file – yes, same boy, Rafael de Santos, seventeen – and frown. "He's been arrested for assault already?"

"Attacked his school guidance counselor with a pair of scissors." There's no playfulness in Danny now. He crosses his arms over his chest. "Nearly cut her ear off."

"Jesus."

Rafael plonks his heavy boots on the table, and puts his hands behind his head. He looks utterly relaxed, almost bored, as though this isn't new to him at all. "Who's interviewing?"

"Me and Aiden. A tag team will probably work better with this kid, he's like a cucumber." Danny shrugs, and checks his phone. "She's on her way. You okay with this?"

"Huh?" I blink at him, and then force a smile. "Yeah. Go ahead. I'm fine back here."

"You sure?"

I wonder what Aiden's told them about me to make them so concerned. "I'm fine. Seriously. I promise I won't break anything."

He nods. "If you have something, let us know through the microphone." And then he's vanished out the door. I can hear Danny and Aiden talking as it closes, and tune it out. It's been so long since I looked at a murder file that I can't seem to pull my eyes away from it.

Flack turns to the window as I study the file, staring at it as though he'd like nothing more than to be in the interview room, rather than stuck in the observation area with me. I don't blame him. It's highly uncomfortable in here. "So you're a psychologist."

"Yeah." I glance at him. "Do I not look like one or something? You keep asking."

He doesn't laugh. "Not exactly what I pictured, no."

"You don't have a lot of experience with psychologists then."

"I try to avoid it."

"Why?"

"Why?" Shock flickers across his face. I wonder how often he gets asked that question. "Not much of a fan, is all."

"It's not like psychology's a sport. It's science."

"Not really."

I can't help it. I scowl at him. "You're one of those, aren't you?"

"Those?"

"The people who believe that psychology's a soft science."

He shrugs. "Sure. I guess."

"And you would know this how?" An impatient noise escapes my throat. "You use psychology every day when you interview someone. You pick up verbal and physical cues to tell whether or not someone's lying. That's psychology."

"Exactly." He glances at me. "It's not science, it's common sense. And it's wishy-washy."

It's like I've been shoved into a microwave and set to 'steam.' "Excuse me?"

"You're workin' with opinion, not facts. You can't really prove anything. That's not what this case needs." Flack looks toward the window again, and tenses. "They're starting."

If I dared – and if I was taller – I'd bash him over the head with a chair. Instead, I inch closer to the two-way mirror, and keep my mouth shut. A few hours. That's all. A few hours, and then you're done with this, and you can go back to the Safe House and file a restraining order against Mr. Lockyer. Yes.

"Morning." Aiden takes the chair opposite Rafael, looking pleased with herself. "How'd you sleep? I hear that lockup's getting a little less comfortable these days."

Silence. Aiden opens her copy of the case file, and slides a photograph across to him. "You recognize this weapon, Rafael?"

He doesn't even look at the picture. "No."

"That's funny, 'cause we checked. It has your prints all over it."

"Loads of ways that could have happened."

"So you do recognize the gun?"

"Maybe."

"Maybe?" Danny snorts. "It's not like this is a hard question, Raf. Do you or do you not recognize the gun that you handled within the last forty-eight hours to rob a drug store on the North Shore?"

Rafael makes a rude gesture. He turns to stare at the wall.

"Nice kid," I say, and to my surprise, Flack stifles a snort.

"We can play nice with you, Raf, but you gotta play nice with us for that to happen," says Aiden. She takes out another photograph. "I think this is a good shot of you, what do you think? See, you have the gun in Mr. Cho's face, and he's handing you the money, and look! We can see you clear as day. It's like you wanted us to catch you."

"Well, maybe I have an evil twin," Rafael responds. "But that ain't me."

"Really? Because even identical twins have little differences. And this?" She taps the photo. "See this scar here? Right on your cheek? That's only on you, Raf. No twin to take the fall this time."

Rafael glances at Aiden, and makes a low noise in the back of his throat. It might be a denial, but the way he's looking at her says otherwise. "A'ight. So maybe I scared him a little. But you still don't have nothin' on me. Me and my brother, see, we look an awful lot alike." He leans back in his chair. "You can't prove anything, grainy photo like that. You're screwed."

I lean forward, and press the intercom button. "Aiden, make him look at the pictures of the bodies."

Her head tilts, but other than that, there's no sign that she's heard me. I get the feeling that Flack's watching me, though. It makes my skin prickle.

"You don't know why we wanna talk about your gun, do you, Raf?" Aiden leans forward. "Do you have any idea?"

"Get out of my face." Rafael pushes at the table, angrily, his arms still locked together by the cuffs. "God. You don't have no right to hold me here, bitch."

"Ooo, touchy." Danny's pissed. He doesn't touch Rafael, though his hands compress reflexively into fists. Any doubts I've had about Aiden's friends vanish. It's good to know they'll defend her, even though I know how well she can defend herself. "You a little anxious here, Raf?"

"No."

"You're gonna be. See, you're the one in the hot seat here. Me, when this is over, I'm gonna go home and watch the game. Maybe spend some quality time with my girlfriend." He shrugs. "Nothin' to it. You, on the other hand…well, lockup's not the nicest place to be at night, y'know?"

Rafael scoffs.

"Do you recognize these two?" Aiden asks. Rafael's eyes snap back to her as she holds out the snapshot of Angela Somerset, arm in arm with her husband Liam; it's a copy of the picture I have in my version of the file. They're both smiling by a bay, and there's a huge rock behind them; it reminds me of pictures of California.

"No."

"You sure?" It's the other picture now, of the gunshot wounds, Angela's half-open eyes, Liam's hand in hers. "How about now?"

Rafael stares at the picture for a moment, and then he looks away, but not before his eyes widen, oh-so-minutely. We all catch it. It could mean that he recognizes them; it could mean that the picture's shocked him. We need more information. "No."

My fingers are drumming a tattoo against my arm that reminds me of the beat from a song I used to know. "Does he have an alibi?"

Flack shakes his head. "Says he was with some friends at the time of the murder, but he's part of a gang. They're gonna cover for him no matter what."

"Which gang?"

"Smalltime group called Vengador Thirteen."

"Avenger Thirteen." I shrug at his look. "I took Spanish every year from third grade on. I remember bits and pieces." More than that, since I'd worked with TPD for over a year, but still.

"Wasn't asking."

"Okay, then."

"Rafael's pretty low when it comes to being a banger, but it's a gang, so whaddaya do?" Flack rubs the back of his neck. "We have proof he was at the drug store robbery, and his gun was used in the murder case; Vengador Thirteen runs all through that part of Staten Island. But he's not talkin', and unless he does we have no other way to link Vengador Thirteen to the murder."

"He's too smart for that. I wonder…" I hesitate. "What's Vengador Thirteen pulled in the past couple weeks?"

"Not much that we can pin down. They're still small-time. There's the drug store robbery for certain, maybe a few assaults, one or two B and Es." He frowns at me. "What are you thinkin'?"

"I'm thinking that he's still just a kid, no matter how smart he is." I press the intercom again. "Ask him about his parents, Aiden. Then bring up the snitch idea."

"Lemme guess, this is all because of his relationship with his mother?"

"Don't bring Freud into this, please, Detective Flack. The case is twisted enough already."

"Do your parents know you're here, Rafael?" Rafael's eyes flick around the room; suddenly, the ceiling is incredibly interesting to him. "Have you called them?"

"No."

"Do they know where you are?"

"They don't give a damn."

"We could call them, if you wanted. They can come pick you up." Aiden inspects her fingernails. "Then you can go home and hang with your bros. What're they called again?"

"The Vengadores." Messer catches on fast, I have that much to say. "You think they'll be happy with our boy here, gettin' out of lockup so quick?"

"Probably not, but hey, if he doesn't have anything to tell us, we can just send him straight back home."

"You don't know what you're talking about," says Rafael.

"No, we don't." She shrugs. "Hey, it's not your first offense, Raf. Me, if I was a 'banger and I saw a buddy of mine get out scot free after somethin' like this? I'd wonder what his angle was. We can hold you for a few more hours, and then what? We let you out without a charge, people are gonna be askin' questions."

"You don't know anything," he repeats, dead quiet. There's something lethal in his face.

"But you do, Raf. So here's the deal." Aiden pushes the photos forward again, the gun, the robbery, the murder, one by one. Rafael's eyes snap to the table. "You tell me what I need to know about the gun. We keep you here for a while longer. You call a lawyer, he does his fancy lawyer deal and gets you outta here so you can go back to your boys. You name names, we don't out you as a snitch."

"I'm not a goddamn snitch!"

"You will be, once we let you out." Danny stands, and steps aside so Aiden can pass. "We'll let you think on it, a'ight? Give you a couple minutes."

They shut the door behind them before Rafael can say anything. He looks about ready to snap Aiden's neck, no fear, no frustration, just pure fury. By contrast, Aiden's cold as ice; the temperature drops a few more degrees as she and Danny shut the door to the observation room oh-so-quietly behind them.

"I hate 'bangers," she says, in a low voice. "Really. Hate them."

"So, Doc, you got anything?"

For a second I think he's talking to someone else. Then I catch on, and twist my fingers into the belt loop of my jeans, thinking. "Maybe."

"I knew it." Aiden grins. "Talk to me, Bridge."

"You're probably not gonna like it."

"Fine by me."

I let out a breath. "I don't think he did it."

Danny swears. Flack's face goes stone cold. Aiden looks about ready to bite her tongue off; she grits her teeth. "Why, exactly?"

"No motive. The Somersets were from out of town, there's no way that a Staten Island gang would have any reason to kill them, and they weren't particularly wealthy, so theft is out." I pull the picture of the gun from the file, and hand it to her. "My guess, he picked the gun up from somewhere and decided to use it. What does he use it for? Robbing a drug store. He's a real son of a bitch, don't get me wrong. But he didn't recognize the Somersets, he didn't have any idea why you were shoving that photograph in front of him, and if he had done it, he'd be boasting about it right now instead of imitating a brick wall."

"But there are no other prints on the gun, Bridge."

"Riddle me this." It's Flack. "Could he have done it?"

"With his mental state?" I glance back at Rafael, who's currently strangling the air with his hands, or at least attempting to. "Definitely. But he has no motive. Psychologically."

"Psychologically," he says, and scoffs. "I told you she wouldn't be any help."

Flack leaves the room. Danny glances at Aiden, and then goes after him. I ignore it.

"Ask him where he found the gun. Not who gave it to him, but where he found the gun. You'll probably get more results if you offer him a way out that doesn't involve outing his gang buddies." My knees are quaking. I stand, and head for the door.

Aiden frowns. "Where are you going?"

"Bathroom."

By the time I return – ten minutes later, after washing my face and hands and trying to pretend that I'm not trembling – they have an explanation, and Rafael is on his way back to lockup. Aiden meets me by one of the desks. "Have it. He picked up the gun from a garbage can in Arden Heights about two blocks away from where the shooting took place. Said one of the neighborhood kids told him where it was. Not a gang member," she adds, and slaps palms with Danny.

"We have a name?"

"We have a name and a possible witness. We are golden."

"I'm happy for you."

"Don't be happy for me. You're the woman of the hour here. I think you're good luck for the office, y'know? Walter brought in the dirtbag he's been tracking for weeks while you were here." She gestures to a desk about four rows away, where a uniform is lecturing a swarthy man in cuffs. "You okay?"

No, I just had a panic attack in a public bathroom."Yeah," I say. "Fine."

I swear to God, Aiden can smellwhen I'm lying. Her eyes narrow, and her voice softens. "You want me to go with you back to the Village?"

"No, that's fine." I clear my throat, and hook my thumbs into my pockets. "I'm just gonna go. I'll see you later?"

"Yeah."

My hands are still shaking as I walk out the door, and by the time I'm two blocks away, I'm about ready to vomit. I grab onto the nearest wall to steady myself, and take deep, shuddering breaths, ignoring the funny looks I'm getting. Or not getting. It's New York, after all.

It's over. And it's taken less than an hour. Once today is over with, I don't ever have to get involved in a police investigation again. It was a favor, and I'm done with it, and I can add a few things to my bank account in the bargain, but I don't ever have to do it again. I don't ever have to go back.

The scary part is how much I want to.

A/N.

6/8/12: Minor textual edits made. Hope you enjoyed!