Whaddya know? I'm updating on time this week! Things are slowing down a little bit so hopefully I won't be too busy to remember to post from now on hehe.
Aftermath is getting a lot of views and visits and I'm thrilled! Even if I don't hear from you, just know that I'm paying attention and I'm grateful for every reader. I miss having my stuff out there and interacting with you guys! I'm especially thankful for all the follows and favorites. You guys keep me going!
xXxXx
Chapter Two – Fight or Flight
xXxXx
After she and Fillmore brought the perp into HQ, Ingrid sat at her desk with a hand lightly pressed against her still-throbbing stomach. She stared at her screensaver and watched the box hit the sides of the screen and bounce around, changing shapes as it hit the sides of the monitor. She stored the sequence inside of her memory, thankful for something monotonous and meaningless to be circuiting her mind instead of something so traumatic.
"Whenever I see you I just… yearn."
She shook those images from her head, stood up, and walked briskly towards the quiet room, where officers decompressed after a bad interrogation or a rough case. She was vaguely aware of some of the officers watching her, her friends Tehama and Anza included, so she shut the door behind her. To her satisfaction, the dimly lit room was empty, so she made her way to the small bathroom.
She turned the light on and for the first time that day saw how terrible she looked; despite her attempt to hide how exhausted she was, anyone could still see it in the form of dark circles under her eyes. She had only minimally run a comb through her hair during her scramble to get out the door but, considering how many times she'd run her hands through her hair since the day began, the comb's job had been undone probably hours ago.
She felt Canton running his hands through her hair, grabbing a handful of it, and using it to pull her closer to him. She shuddered, turned on the faucet, and let the icy water pool in her hands before splashing it on her face.
"Come on, Dee."
"Just relax."
She ran her trembling hands over her face, desperately fighting the memories from resurfacing in her mind.
"Come on."
She shook her head again and pressed her palms hard to her temples.
"Shut up," she whispered. He grinned at her, his eyes gleaming. "God, just go away."
Fillmore walked out of the observation room after spending a couple of minutes watching Vallejo process their perp; a junior punk named Adrian Barrow.
He needed to talk to his partner.
He immediately looked towards her desk where he left her only to find her gone. He stopped and looked around the room and spotted Tehama and Anza. Tehama was sitting at her desk staring intently at her computer desk while Anza was watching over her shoulder.
Fillmore threw his hands out at his sides. "Where's Ingrid?" he asked them.
Anza pointed wordlessly towards the quiet room with a thumb, but didn't remove his eyes from the screen. Tehama, however, looked up and waved him over. "Fillmore, I think you need to see this."
Fillmore waved her off and headed towards the quiet room. "Not now, Karen."
"Hey!" she exclaimed. Fillmore stopped in his tracks and glared at her, but she glared right back and pointed at the empty spot beside her desk. "Get over here, pretty boy. Don't you dare make me chase you."
Fillmore sighed but couldn't suppress a smirk. He couldn't remember how it started, but he could never turn her down when she called him that. He walked over to her desk, leaned over her shoulder with a hand on the side of the desk and the other on the back of her chair. "What do you got for me, sweet cheeks?"
"It's the camera footage of your chase," she explained, the ghost of a smirk on her face. She rewound the video and looked at Fillmore, "It might explain a lot." She hit play.
Barrow was pacing the hallway on his cell phone when he abruptly stopped and Ingrid appeared on the screen with crossed arms. He paused but then took off in the other direction with Ingrid slowly catching up to him. He ran into the trash can and turned the corner, but when Ingrid turned the corner to follow, Barrow came back around the corner and launched a fist into her stomach, sending her staggering backwards across the hallway. Fillmore flinched as he watched. He had no idea he'd hit her, and by the looks of it, it definitely wasn't something you'd typically walk away from without difficulty.
After a short struggle, Ingrid got the perp on his back and were exchanging words. She froze for a moment before responding violently. She grabbed him by the collar of his shirt and slammed him on the ground when Fillmore ran up behind her and pulled her off of him. Tehama stopped the tape and both she and Anza were staring at Fillmore, whose nerves were fraying at the seams. Ingrid has never been a violent person…
Not unless she was in danger.
"We think he said something to her that made her angry," Anza told him, shoving his hands in his pockets. "Or judging by the way she's been acting since it happened, maybe something that freaked her out?"
Fillmore stood up straight and walked towards the quiet room once more, but with more urgency. "Thanks guys."
Ingrid felt his lips against hers, his hands explore her body, and her stomach churned with disgust. She took a shaky deep breath, wiped a tear that had fallen from her eye and splashed a little more water on her face. Why is this affecting you so bad, girl? She heard Fillmore chastise her.
Ingrid turned the water off and stared at her reflection in the mirror; her smeared mascara, the cold water dripping slowly down her sullen face, her partner staring at her from the doorway.
She did a double take.
Fillmore stood in the doorway of the bathroom with his hands in his pockets and a worried look on his face. How long he had been standing there, she had no clue. For all she knew, he had followed her in there. She grabbed the towel hanging from the rung to her right and dried her face with it.
"You wanna tell me what happened back there, Ingrid?" he asked softly. She turned around and leaned against the sink, but she wouldn't meet his eyes. She had to get rid of the tears first. She rubbed the smeared makeup from her eyes with the towel and took a deep breath, debating whether she should tell him the truth.
"I don't know," she whispered, twisting the towel tightly in her hands. "I don't even know, Fillmore."
And that was the truth. She hadn't even realized what she was doing until Fillmore had come and pulled her away from Barrow; it was like her memory took total control over her body.
"What did he say to you?" he asked, which snapped her out of her thoughts. She looked up and gave him a questioning look. "When you collared Barrow he said something to you," he elaborated. Ingrid inwardly cursed. Security footage, Third. Duh. Fillmore leaned against the doorway and shoved his hands in his pockets. "What was it?"
She shrugged. "He was just being a perv. That's all." Well, it's half true.
Fillmore smiled the smile he always used to mask disbelief and shook his head. "No, that's not all."
She shrugged again; she knew exactly where he was going, but she forced herself to feign ignorance. "I don't know what else you want me to say, Fillmore."
"The truth, Ingrid!" he told her and threw his hands out. "What's going on with you?"
Lie. "Nothing."
"Don't you dare lie to me, Ingrid!" he exclaimed, pointing out towards the HQ. Ingrid's eyes fell to the floor. "Whatever's going on, it's affecting you out in the field." He paused, trying to meet her eyes, but she wouldn't look up at him. "I'm worried about you."
Lie. She looked up at him. "You don't need to be. I'm fine."
"You say you're fine when you're not."
Ingrid rolled her eyes. "Yeah, I've heard that one before."
The look in Fillmore's dark eyes was fierce but hurt. Ingrid felt her stomach twist into painful knots at the sight, but she couldn't tell him. His irritating hero complex would kick in and he'd do everything he could to try and fix her. But he couldn't help her.
"Girl, why are you shutting me out?"
"Why do you want to know so badly?"
"Because I need to be able to trust you, Ingrid!" Fillmore blurted. Ingrid flinched at his sudden outburst; out of many things she expected him to say, that wasn't even in her top ten. Fillmore continued after pausing to determine what to say. "I need to know you've got my back out there!" Ingrid's heart lurched inside of her chest.
He doesn't trust me.
"Ingrid, I-" Fillmore stopped abruptly, putting a hand to his face and another on his hip. "Ingrid, I don't know what you're dealing with but you're not with me." He looked back at her and put his other hand on his hip. "You're distracted, which can lead to mistakes, serious mistakes. I need to know you've got my back."
Ingrid didn't respond, but she couldn't break Fillmore's stare. She strained to keep the lump in her throat from surfacing and to keep the tears from her eyes but she knew if she spoke, she wouldn't be able to keep them from falling. He stepped closer to her and spoke softer. "And if you're in such a bad place where you can't have mine… then I gotta have yours."
She finally looked away from Fillmore and down at her feet.
My own partner, my best friend, doesn't even trust me.
A silent tear finally fell from her eye and ran slowly down her cheek.
"I don't know what to do, Fillmore." She didn't dare raise her voice above a whisper; any higher and her entire composure would be compromised. She wouldn't be able to stop.
Fillmore didn't reply. He watched her with fear as another tear fell from her eye. A thousand terrible thoughts ran through his head, making his stomach churn. Whatever was going on, it had Ingrid broken. After all of these years, nothing had ever come close to breaking her. She was made of steel – or so he thought.
Ingrid squeezed her eyes shut, releasing more tears, and she willed herself to stop. Jesus, Ingrid, pull yourself together! She took a deep breath and looked up at Fillmore, ready to start spilling everything.
She had just opened her mouth to speak when the door to the quiet room opened.
A part of Ingrid inwardly sighed with relief, but there was a deeper part of her that screamed to shout at the intruder and scare them away and tell Fillmore everything; it begged her to let it all go. But she wiped away her tears and looked back down at her boots, taking a deep breath to recompose herself.
Fillmore had also visibly deflated. He looked down at the ground and shook his head as Vallejo walked up behind him.
"Hey, we need you guys out here," he told them, but when Fillmore stepped aside to look at him, he saw Ingrid as well and cautiously asked, "Am I interrupting something?"
Ingrid looked up – dry eyes, composure replaced – and asked, "What is it, Vallejo?"
He gave her a wary look before getting back to business. "Barrow wants to talk to you," he explained, not looking away from Ingrid. "Only you."
She raised an eyebrow. "Why me?" She could feel the frustration radiating from Fillmore, who was silently glaring down at his feet. The tension between her and her partner was thick like smoke in the air threatening to choke her.
Vallejo shrugged. "I don't know, but we have to get something out of him. He's the first and only lead we've got on this one." He looked at Fillmore, who had finally looked up to meet Ingrid's eyes.
The expression in his eyes hit her in the chest like a ton of bricks. She had never seen such a look in his eyes before; she couldn't even tell what kind of look it was, which terrified her to the bone. She wondered if she should stay and interview Barrow later. Maybe take a walk with Fillmore and explain herself.
"Guys?"
Ingrid blinked and fell back to Earth, taking in Fillmore's full expression. It was forlorn and disappointed, but he knew her mind was made up, and he understood.
She looked away from him and started to walk out of the bathroom, but reached up and dragged a finger subtly under her eye. She turned to the side to walk past her partner when he tapped her lightly on the elbow.
We'll talk later.
As Ingrid walked past him and Vallejo, Fillmore leaned his back against the door frame and rubbed his eyes with one hand. When Ingrid left the quiet room, Vallejo looked at him in shock while turning towards the door.
Fillmore nodded at the file in his hand. "What's that, man?" he asked.
Vallejo held it out to him and said, "Barrow's record." Fillmore took the file from him and opened it up, quickly skimming over the front page for anything that stuck out. "What did I walk into, Fillmore?" Vallejo asked in a hesitant tone while turning to exit the room.
Fillmore shook his head, straightened up, and followed the Commissioner out. "I really don't know, man."
When Ingrid walked out of the quiet room, almost every eye had turned to her, but she kept walking. Either they had heard them shouting or she truly was looking exceptionally terrible today. Most likely both.
Tehama approached her from her left, leaned in towards her and asked in a hushed tone, "Hey, everything okay?"
Ingrid completely ignored the question and kept heading for the interrogation room. "You got something, Tehama?"
Tehama got the message. With a sigh, she held out the phone the perp had thrown away in a clear evidence bag to her. "I've got good news, bad news, and a little more bad news. The bad news is that this is a burn phone." Ingrid grabbed the phone and gave it a good long look as Tehama continued. "You can get one at any kind of department store, appliance store, or gas station out there for cheap with no questions asked. A little more bad news: there was only one number that ever contacted this phone, but it's a burn phone, too."
They stopped in front of the interrogation room and Ingrid sighed, running a hand over her face. "So neither of them can be traced."
"Yup." Tehama shrugged. "Sorry, Ingrid."
"Well, maybe you can make up for it. You said you've got good news?"
Tehama winked at her. "You find me that burn phone and I'll be able to tell you if it's the lucky number."
Ingrid raised an eyebrow. "That'll be like looking for a used needle in a needle stack. How is that good news?"
Tehama nudged her in the arm and shot her a comforting smile. "Call me an optimist."
Ingrid rolled her eyes, but couldn't hide the smile from her face; she needed some optimism. "Thanks, Karen." Tehama's faux blue bangs bounced on her forehead as she nodded and she walked off as Fillmore and Vallejo approached.
Vallejo walked towards the door right next to hers – to the observation room – and looked at her as he opened it. "Get something outta this guy, Third." She nodded at him and he disappeared into the room. Ingrid put her hand on the knob.
"Hey."
She looked up at her partner, whose expression had changed from frustration to concern. He leaned toward her.
"You good for this?" he asked quietly, staring her straight in her eyes.
I hope so. "Yeah, I'm good."
He stared at her for a moment, trying to get a read on her, but nodded and handed her Adrian Barrow's school record. "Shake him up, mama." She nodded with a smile and took the file from his hand.
God, I love it when he calls me that.
She took a deep breath – a sigh of relief that she and Fillmore were still on speaking terms – and walked into the interrogation room. The brunette sitting at the table flinched as she opened the door and slammed it shut behind her.
"All right Barrow, you've got me in here," Ingrid started and approached the opposite side of the table from him, "so whatever it is you've got to say, say it. I've got an English test I can't miss."
Barrow looked up at her with cold, yet sad, blue eyes, shocking Ingrid as they made eye contact. Everything Ingrid had wanted to say to the boy vanished from her memory as they looked at each other; his eyes told her everything she needed to know.
While his tone was fierce and angry, his icy blue eyes were darting around them…
She sat down in the chair across from him and leaned her elbows against the table. Who are you scared of? she thought. Barrow didn't say a word, just looked at her with those same sad eyes. After a long silent minute of staring into each other's eyes, Ingrid opened his file and skimmed over it, storing everything into her photographic memory and putting together her own profile.
Adrian Dylan Barrow, 17 years old. Second year junior.
Class skipper – specifically, eighth period for the last two months – chronic spitballer, C average. Rebellious, not particularly motivated, but motivated enough to stay in school. Something must be keeping him here.
Written up four times early this semester for insubordination and back-talking his teachers. He isn't afraid of or bothered by those in authority but he has yet to be caught doing anything serious. He probably gets off on the thrill of danger and alluding capture. Wants to commit the crime without the punishment. Why was this time different?
Not many known associates. Three prior suspensions for fighting. He's a lone wolf; aggressive.
Ingrid shut the file and pushed it aside. "Let me just ask you something, Adrian." He blinked at her, but didn't protest, so she stood up, started walking around the table and continued, processing everything she just learned about him out loud to him. "Kicking aside the pleasantries, you're not particularly motivated. You're antisocial and have no friends, but somehow have plenty of enemies considering how many times you've been suspended for fighting."
Barrow looked down at the table, but still didn't say anything. Ingrid stopped pacing behind him and just leaned against the wall, crossing her arms and staring at him through the reflective window across the room.
"You've skipped eighth period every day for the past two months, yet you keep up a C average in all of your classes including that one."
Barrow shook his head. "I'm not hearing a question in there."
"What bothers me, Adrian, is that while you keep up an 'I couldn't care less' attitude, you've got that C average and nothing in your record other than a couple of misdemeanors."
Barrow shrugged, staring back at her in the mirror. "And?"
Ingrid continued with her pacing as she started speculating. "So it hit me." She looked back at him as she circled the table. Barrow shifted uncomfortably in his seat as she continued with her speech. "You act like your one and only desire is to get out of this school, but you don't make a legitimate effort to do so."
"So what's your question, belt?"
Ingrid stopped across from him. "What's keeping you here?" Barrow stared at her, caught off guard by that question but didn't answer.
Ingrid slammed her hand down on the table, making the suspect jump. "I don't have all day, Barrow! You wanted to talk to me, so here I am! Let's talk!"
Barrow stood up and glared. "You don't understand!"
Ingrid threw up her hands and glared back. "Then make me understand!" she shouted back. He stuttered, as if trying to find the words to say. "Who are you protecting, Adrian?" His eyes darted around the room, spotting every camera, every microphone and then looked at the door.
The bell rang, signaling the start of third period and making Barrow flinch at the sudden noise. Ingrid looked down at her watch and grabbed the file from the table.
Barrow sat up straight. "Where are you going?" he asked as she made her way towards the door.
"I told you: I have an English test I can't miss," she replied, turning the knob and opening the door. "You had your shot." She took a step out of the room.
"Beth Range!"
Ingrid stopped in the doorway. Beth Range. She scanned her photographic memory for the name and four glimpses of girls flashed in her head: a blonde, two brunettes and a redhead, all Beths, but not one with the last name Range.
She turned around and looked at him warily. He had his head in his hands, his shoulders were shaking and he was holding his breath. Something about the way he was acting unnerved her. He wasn't the type to be scared easily, but he was definitely afraid of something. She shut the door and walked back over to the table, curiosity gnawing at her bones. As she approached, he put his elbows back on the table and ran a hand through his mussed brown hair and looked back up at her, but didn't say a word. She sat down on the edge of the table, put the file in her lap, and waited for him to continue, encouraging him with soft green eyes.
He fidgeted in his seat again, but finally admitted, "She's my sister." Ingrid raised her eyebrows, and he explained, rubbing his hands on his thighs and staring at his lap, "It wouldn't be in any file or record you have. She's my foster sister, but I'm all she's got. She's only seven. I've been skipping eighth period every day to pick her up from the elementary school and walk her home." He finally looked up into her eyes and revealed that while he had kept his cool, he had been holding back tears. His eyes were a glassy blue, heavy with fear.
Barrow reached up abruptly and grabbed her wrist and held it tight, forcing her to keep eye contact. The sudden movement startled her, momentarily flashing back to their altercation in the hallway before, but she didn't pull away.
"Now you have to promise me," he started, but paused, waiting for his voice to steady, "that if I tell you everything, you'll protect me and my sister." Tears were now flowing freely from his eyes and Ingrid couldn't break away. Instead, she placed her hand over the hand that gripped her arm, and said,
"We can do that, Adrian."
He stared into her eyes, not breaking contact, when there was a sharp knock on the window behind them. Barrow jumped at the sudden sound but let go of Ingrid's wrist and wiped the tears from his cheeks subtly. Ingrid turned around to look at the window, took a deep breath, and looked back at him.
"I'll be right back," she said as she picked the file back up and left the room.
When she walked into the observation room, she made sure to shut the door abruptly behind her. Vallejo glared at her display of anger as she threw her arms out at her sides.
"What was that, Vallejo?" she asked, throwing the file on the table and putting her hands on her hips.
Vallejo shot her a look but said, "We can't provide protection on the girl, Third. The elementary school isn't in our jurisdiction."
Ingrid scoffed. "You're kidding me."
"Ingrid-"
"It may not be our turf, but the middle school patrol can take this on," she argued, her eyes striking nerves in the Commissioner's chest. He was about to speak again when she pointed to Barrow in the other room. "Just look at him, Vallejo. Something's got him scared. You can see it in his eyes!"
Vallejo put up his hands. "Okay, hang on-"
Ingrid didn't stop speaking. "Look, he's a fight or flight kind of guy. He is not the kind of guy to bend over when he's threatened; he lashes out. He retaliates. If he can't, then he runs." She thought back to the three boys who crossed Barrow and didn't make it past the first punch. "Whatever is going on, it has him going against every single instinct he has to fight back, but for some reason, he isn't running either. Something has him scared enough to keep him here and he was too scared to come to us so he let himself get caught."
Vallejo shook his head in confusion. "Wait, 'let himself get caught'?"
"Like I said, he's fight or flight," Ingrid continued, exasperated now. "He was already running and he had no idea Fillmore was going to stop him at the other end but he still chose to stop and try to fight me off. There was no need to sucker punch me when he could have easily outrun me."
Fillmore stared at his partner as she frantically profiled the boy on the other side of the glass. She was talking a mile a minute, desperate to get this boy help. There was a passion in her tone, but he couldn't shake the feeling in his gut that there was something else about this case and that Ingrid saw. To the normal eye, Ingrid was just passionate… but Fillmore knew better. Ingrid felt something.
Vallejo looked through the window and took a good long look at their suspect.
"Vallejo, please," Ingrid pleaded. "He wants to talk but he can't let whoever's got him scared to know that he does." There was a brief silence as Vallejo contemplated their situation, thinking hard.
"She makes a good point, Vallejo," Fillmore offered.
Vallejo sighed. "See what you can get out of him," he said and then turned to Ingrid with a sharp expression in his brown eyes. "Then we'll talk."
Ingrid simply nodded, choosing not to revel in the fact that she had won, turned on her heel and walked quickly from the room, not giving Fillmore even a sideways glance. When the door shut behind her, Vallejo groaned and rubbed his eyes.
"I really don't know what it is, but you two give me headaches."
xXxXx
"About two months ago, I went to pick up Beth at the library." Adrian Barrow rubbed his eyebrows with shaky fingers, shifting in his seat uncomfortably with every passing word. "She always walks there after school and waits for me to come get her. I mean, it's not even a block away, you know? And it's supposed to be safe." He rubbed his palms together nervously as Ingrid took it all in. "But when I walked in, I didn't see her at her usual table, so I went looking around the stacks for her. When she wasn't there, I started to panic.
"I went up to the desk and asked Nora – the librarian – if she had seen her come in… and she said no. She's the one who normally greets Beth when she went in. Nora is her favorite."
"Nora!" Adrian ran up to the front desk.
"Hey," the brunette woman at the counter scolded playfully with a pointed finger in his direction. "Didn't your mama ever teach you not to run in the library Adrian?"
He ignored her and placed his hands on the desk. "Have you seen Beth?"
Nora instantly turned serious. "No, I haven't actually. I thought you had picked her up from school or something." She removed the glasses from her nose and placed them on top of her head. "She isn't with you?"
Ingrid held up a hand. "Do you know Nora's last name?"
"Holbrook. She's the youngest librarian in the joint. You couldn't miss her," he pointed out, then continued as Ingrid nodded. "I ran all the way home, looking for any trace of her as I went, but when I got there, there she was on the couch with a sandwich watching television."
"Hi Adrian!" Beth greeted with a grin as he entered. "What took you so long?"
Adrian stared at her in awe for a split second before relief flooded through him. He wordlessly ran over to her and picked her up in a tight embrace.
"Adrian you're crushing me!" she exclaimed with a giggle just as he set her down and held her by her shoulders.
"Beth why weren't you at the library?" he asked. "How did you get home?"
"Your friend from school picked me up today."
His blood ran cold. Little did Beth know, he didn't exactly have friends… everyone he knows either hated him, wanted something from him, or both.
He cupped her face in his hands. "What friend?"
She shrugged, "He said his name was B, but that doesn't really make sense. I mean B isn't a name. It's a letter," she told him, genuinely confused. "But he made me a peanut butter sandwich before he left, just the way I like it!"
Adrian shot up and ran towards the half-eaten sandwich the seven-year-old left on the dining room table and peeled the slices of bread apart, examining it closely.
"Hey, what are you doing?" she cried out. "I'm eating that! Now it has your germs all over it!"
He saw nothing wrong with the sandwich, but his gut still churned. He grabbed it and ran into the kitchen, with Beth close at his heels, and tossed it into the trashcan.
"What did you do that for?!" she asked, her eyes fierce but glassy with tears.
He turned around to face her and kneeled down to her level. "I'll make you another sandwich Beth, okay? Now what else did this guy say?"
"Nothing!" she pouted, then she reached into her pocket and pulled out a folded piece of paper. "But he wanted me to give this to you. He said it was really important." Adrian took the piece of paper and unfolded it, reading it carefully and paling at its words. "Can you make me a new sandwich now?"
"What did the note say?" Ingrid asked, fully roped into the story.
Adrian stared at her for a moment, contemplating if he should go on, and finally forced the words out. "'You should keep your family close. I'll be in touch'."
Ingrid nodded. "Do you still have this note?" Adrian nodded and shakily removed his shoe, the note falling out as he pulled it off. He unfolded it, placed it on the table, and slid it across the table to the detective. Ingrid pulled the piece of paper to her with the tip of her pen and examined it. It was printed from a computer and typed with a delicate script with a red wax seal. Simply signed: "B".
"I've been skipping class to walk Beth home from school ever since. I'd rather miss out on a class I don't even have a chance of passing anyway than have something happen to her, you know?"
Ingrid nodded. "Do you have any idea what the letter 'B' might stand for?"
He shrugged. "Beats the hell out of me."
"When did you come into contact with him next?"
"Two days later," he answered. "A note fell out of my locker with a time and place to meet. Behind the bleachers in the little gym during third hour. When I got there, some guy was waiting for me with that phone and he told me to wait for a phone call, which I got that night."
Ingrid held up a hand to slow him down. "Wait, so you met him?"
Adrian shook his head. "No, not him. Just some asshat who admitted to being just a middleman with a message when I tried to beat the crap out of him."
Ingrid raised her eyebrows. "You tried to hurt him?"
Adrian shrugged and threw his hands up. "I thought he was the creep who took my kid sister home! Damn right, I tried to hurt him."
That's not important. Focus. Ingrid shook her head. "Can you describe him?"
He scoffed. "Even better," he said, leaning back in his chair. "I can tell you his name."
"Which is?"
"Joey Ramone. That dick burnout from grade ten who's always ripping off the underclassmen with those fake vending machine cards."
"And what message did he have for you?"
"He gave me that burn phone and told me to keep an eye out. A few days later a note showed up in my locker saying to call up Ms. Childs," he explained, crossing his arms over his chest. "I just had to say what was on the paper and hang up, but I had to make sure my voice was unrecognizable. There's an app on that phone for a voice scrambler he wanted me to use."
"Ramone?" she asked.
"No." He shook his head. "B."
Ingrid raised her eyebrow. "That's all he's been having you do? Make prank phone calls?"
He threw his hands out in the air, "Look, I didn't see the harm in it considering he could so easily harm the only family I've got! I don't even know what those lines mean! He just said to do what he told me to do or else."
"Did he sound familiar to you?"
He shook his head. "Nah. He was using the same scrambler he told me to use."
Ingrid nodded then bit her lip. "You know we'll have to talk to Beth."
Adrian sighed, sat back in his chair, and ran his hand over his face. "Yeah, I know." Ingrid looked at the shrunken teenager in front of her as he looked back up at her. "But you'll keep your promise? You'll protect her?"
Ingrid nodded. "We'll get it set up."
Walking back into the observation room to rejoin Fillmore and Vallejo, she tossed her notepad on the table and put her hands on her hips. "We have to protect that girl."
Vallejo sighed and ran his hand over his face. "I know that, Third."
Fillmore stood shoulder-to-shoulder with his partner, who had placed her fingers on her temples, trying to make a connection that neither of the other two officers saw. "I don't know who this 'B' is, but he's definitely a threat."
"I agree," Vallejo said. "First thing's first: we need to contact Folsom, fill her in on what we have, and get authorization to set up a protection detail for Beth."
"What about the sketch artist?" Fillmore asked. "Should we send Tehama?"
Vallejo nodded. "We only want people who need to know in on this. This case is already starting to get too loud for comfort."
Ingrid finally snapped her fingers and looked back up. "I know."
Vallejo raised an eyebrow. "Know what?"
"Who B is," she concluded. "Buckingham."
"Really?"
"Yes!" she confirmed. "It has to be. Every phone call we've managed to capture has to do with Buckingham and his betrayal. I don't think that can be a coincidence."
"Dawg."
Vallejo crossed his arms, put a finger to his chin, and looked at Ingrid, "We're still gathering information from the teachers and keeping tabs on their phones so we can't be sure that every call included lines from Henry VIII. But assuming they had, where do you go from there?"
Ingrid shrugged. "Find Joey Ramone and see what he knows."
Vallejo nodded. "Do it."
xXxXx
"Nothing. He knows nothing." Ingrid collapsed in her desk chair. "And all we could pin him for was a bunch of fake vending cards."
Fillmore tossed an evidence bag full of the cards in question on Anza's desk, who nodded at him, before leaning against his own desk next to hers. "No, he knows something. He just doesn't want to tell us what it is."
Ingrid scoffed. "A part of me wishes we just busted him with something bigger than cards so we could at least have a chance at cutting him a deal," she admitted and ran a hand through her short black hair. Counterfeit cards were only a misdemeanor; no perp on their worst day would cut a deal of any kind over those.
Fillmore ran a hand over his face and sighed. "You and me both, mama."
Ingrid reached into her drawer and pulled out Ramone's student file and flipped through it again. Of course, she already had it memorized, but risking pulling out unwanted scenes from her photographic memory? Not a chance.
Joseph Ramone, 16, forger and distributor.
No obvious ties to Barrow. No overlapping classes, lunch excluded.
"Didn't you already look at that?" Fillmore asked, shooting her an inquisitive look. She nodded.
"Just looking to see if there's something I missed."
He paused but accepted her answer. "I'm gonna brew some coffee. Want some?"
"Sure."
First apprehended and processed in grade eight for rigging the drawings for the school's science lab fundraiser. In and out of detention ever since for misdemeanors such as fake hall passes and dance tickets. Suspected involvement in the sabotage of A Christmas Carol last November. Cleared due to lack of sufficient evidence and eye witness placement.
President of the X High AV club. He probably knows how to use technologies such as voice scramblers and frequency jammers. Possible connection.
Rewind. A Christmas Carol? She thought. Her heart skipped a beat.
As casually as possible, Ingrid got up from her desk and made her way to the file room and shut the door quietly behind her. She headed straight for aisle CO – covert operations – and straight for case box 15CO216. She pulled it from the top shelf and opened the lid.
She shuddered.
Shrugging it off, Ingrid thumbed through the multiple earmarks. She pulled the file marked 11/13/15, opened it, and searched for the suspect list.
Simone Arlen: makeup artist with grudge against director Adam Granger. Alibi checked out. No evidence tying her to the crime. Cleared.
Joseph Ramone: caught backstage day before the show by Director Granger and cast member Amy Dillard. No ties to the club. No known prejudices against the club or members. No physical evidence tying him to the scene. Cleared.
Unidentified suspect: approx. 6 feet tall, athletic build, white descent. Seen fleeing the theater soon after the set collapsed. Possible connection to previous crimes. Sketch attached.
With a trembling hand, Ingrid lifted the page.
Wade Canton smirked back at her.
The pages fell from her shaking hands onto the floor that seemed to be caving in beneath her. Something crushed her lungs in her chest and made it impossible to breathe as the world started to spin.
No. No. It can't be. He was arrested. She put a hand to her chest and knelt to the ground. He's out of the picture. It's just a coincidence.
But you don't believe in coincidences, Third.
Scrambling to put everything back in the file, she pulled it all together, put the box back in its place, and rushed back out to her desk.
It can't be true.
She placed the file in her bottom drawer and opened up the Safety Patrol database and did a quick search: Canton, Wade. As it loaded, Ingrid quickly scanned the room, searching for any eyes wandering in her direction, and landed on her partner across the room. He was making conversation with O'Farrell next to the coffee pot. He shook his head at something that the ginger was pointing at on his camera and probably made some witty remark to match.
Wade's picture showed up on the screen.
Wade Alexander Canton, 18. Expelled 02/01/16. Placed under house arrest 02/12/16 to care for ill mother pending family court trial. Trial date TBD.
She tried to still her racing heart. Something deep inside her was screaming at her that something wasn't right… that he had to be connected. Another part of her told her that she was worrying for nothing. He was under house arrest; he couldn't have a part in this.
Right?
xXxXx
Dun dun duuuuuu could it be? Canton back for revenge?! Of course not… I wouldn't be that terrible to Ingrid, right?
Right?
Find out next week ;) See you then! Please review, I'd love to hear from you!