As Andy attached her Velcro badge to her shirt, Gail came into the locker room to change out of her uniform.
"Bad day?" Andy asked and Gail looked at her disdainfully in answer.
Andy couldn't help but chuckle.
"It's been bat shit crazy out there. But knowing my luck, it's probably died down and you'll be working the murder case with Homicide. I've been knee deep in fucking domestics all day."
She unclipped her tie and untucked her shirt. Andy pulled her foot up to the bench next to her to tie her shoe laces.
"Is there any news on Eric Jorgensen and the drug trio yet?" Andy couldn't help herself from asking.
Gail shook her head.
"You probably know as much as I do." She muttered. "Anyway," she pulled her shirt off and threw her plain clothes on haphazardly.
"I'm getting drunk tonight!" she grinned as Andy strode from the room.
She looked back at her blonde colleague and laughed.
"Have fun." She waved.
Rounding the corner, she came eye-to-nipple with Luke Callaghan. Homicide himself.
"Oh, sorry," she said quickly.
"Don't worry about it." He brushed it off, his hand gently caressing her shoulder on the way past.
Andy stood frozen and cringed inwardly. It's not as if he was disgusting, although the feelings of disgust were significant after his indiscretion with Rosati, it was just that the act was sort of intimate. Andy had long since abandoned any intimate feelings for Luke. It was just sort of weird for him to touch her like that anymore. Even being as innocent as it was probably intended, she could compare the feeling to having a stranger touch her cheek or tuck her hair behind her ear.
It was uncomfortable.
Nevertheless, she decided it was better than being tense and cynical about the split. At least he wasn't being a total dick. She could deal with this Luke, even if he was scoring a position on the douche-scale.
"Hey!" Sam caught her attention from down in the pit, sitting on top of the desk Oliver was working at.
Of course they were both eating.
She made her way over to them and discovered Oliver wasn't working at all, but discreetly playing a game of space invaders on his iPhone while his paper work from the day sat half done on top of the key board.
Paper wrappings from take-out cheeseburgers littered the surrounding area. One was open with discarded pickles lying on top of it. Sam swallowed his last bite and scrunched his trash into a ball, pegging it at the bin next to Noelle. It missed, and she glared.
"You just start?" Andy asked Sam.
He nodded with a grin as Oliver rolled his eyes, smirking down at his screen.
"Whoah, Ollie!" Jerry appeared behind his shoulder, causing Oliver to lose focus on his game.
"You almost beat my high score, man!" he slapped him on the shoulder and Oliver protested.
"Come on, Barber," he groaned. "You pretty much bent me over the table last night in poker. At least let me keep a shred of dignity here."
Sam raised an eyebrow at Andy.
"There's dignity in playing space invaders?" Andy asked sceptically.
All three stopped to look up at her.
She lifted her hands up defensively and laughed, staying out of it from there.
The phone began making noises and Oliver cursed at it in frustration as Jerry threw his hands up in victory.
"No!" Oliver threw his phone down and leaned his forehead on his folded arms in defeat.
Jerry leaned on top of him with a smile as Swarek dug his phone out to take a picture.
Oliver dug a twenty out of his pocket without looking up.
"I swear to god, Barber. Next time I won't just bet you your facial hair."
Jerry deposited the money into his suit jacket and slapped his friend on the back one more time as Sam and Andy laughed at the spectacle.
Oliver sat up shaking his head, and then inclined it to both Sam and Andy.
"I'll see you guys at changeover. Have a good one." He got up and fled to the locker rooms.
Andy turned to find Sam watching her. She smiled and shrugged.
"So, what's on the agenda, today?"
Sam went to say something when Luke interrupted, striding towards them.
"You'll be coming with me." He said.
They both looked at him and the file he had in his hand.
Eric's file.
"We'll be searching Jorgensen's apartment this afternoon. He's been living in a loft downtown, a few blocks away from where Tara Hunter lived. He lived alone and paid rent with cash."
"Yes, sir." Andy nodded, swallowing hard as silence now resounded between the three of them.
~0~
The loft wasn't as dingy as Andy had expected. But then the drug business was pretty lucrative. She bet Eric Jorgensen never went hungry after they took him under their wing. The furniture was expensive, but still simple. There were band posters everywhere. Some of them framed.
What surprised Andy the most was the picture of Claire Jorgensen on the window sill in the kitchen. Maybe Eric hadn't completely cut himself off from his mother.
He must have still thought about her. Sam agreed with her and told, rather than asked, Luke, to check on Claire's bank account. Maybe Eric was giving her money, looking after her if he still cared to have her picture in his home. Maybe Claire knew more than she was letting on.
The ceilings were high, and the floor was polished hard wood. It echoed.
Andy got down on her stomach to check under his bed.
"Nothing but dust bunnies." She commented.
Sam was rummaging through the chest of drawers and Luke was in the other room, searching the kitchen.
Andy got up onto her knees and caught the look on Sam's face.
"You okay?" he asked her as she stared.
"Yeah. You okay?" she returned, blowing a stray piece of hair from her face.
"Yeah." He shrugged, slamming one of the drawers shut and nearly pulling the handles off the next one.
"Because you kind of seem pissed off about something." She whispered, knowing if she talked any louder, their voices would carry to Luke.
He shrugged again.
"You seem off, too. Is it Callaghan?" he seemed nonchalant.
Well, it was the most obvious reason for her uneasiness.
"Maybe." She answered noncommittally.
He glanced over his shoulder at her.
"Is it weird?"
She shoved her hands under the mattress, pushing it away across the base of the frame to check underneath.
"Yes. It's completely weird, right? I don't know how to act. He's a different person."
Sam was quiet.
"Would you ever…" he closed the last drawer and went to the night stand, facing her across the bed now.
His unsaid question hung in the air and she was incredulous. She had to fight to prevent herself from laughing.
"Go back to him?" she hissed. "God, no. Even if he was the same person. Never."
"Hate to interrupt you guys." Luke bellowed from the door way.
Andy jumped and closed her eyes in embarrassment. Sam looked unashamed.
"But when you're finished with the pillow talk, we've got an investigation to work on." He held up a large sandwich bag full of individual bags containing a familiar, powdery white substance.
As he scrutinised Andy with a searing stare, her hand encountered something between the bed frame and the mattress. She pulled out a plastic bag, about the size of a briefcase. It was full of money; all larger bills.
All three of them shared a look, and it wasn't entirely disdainful. It was more a look of 'this case is definitely gonna be big'.
Luke's phone rang, he turned his back to the both of them and Andy shot Sam an accusing look which he had the nerve to respond with pouting his bottom lip like he was innocent.
Luke snapped his phone shut and brought their attention back to him, he actually looked quite excited and relieved.
"We've finally found them." He said.
"Which one?" Sam asked.
"All three."
"Howard Gordon, Ripley Fields, and Phillip Couperet." Each name was punctuated with the slap of a pile of photographs falling to the steel table.
Luke then sat down having emptied the load off his hands.
He'd blown up a series of crime scene photos of Eric Jorgensen's corpse, and Tara Hunter's. None of the men seemed fazed, nor did they move to touch the pictures. All three stared at Luke as if he hadn't dumped a plethora of horrific imagery right before them.
The air was tight.
Luke sat back in his chair, looking relaxed. But it was a calculated move. He had a small smile, and his fingers tented in front of him as he stared each one in the eye.
Luke had invited Andy to join him in the interrogation while Sam watched from behind the 2A mirror.
All three men couldn't be more different in physical appearance, yet they were identical in demeanour. Perhaps their behaviour was as calculated as an interrogator's.
Howard Gordon, 48, married, three children; he was plump, had a handlebar moustache that was meticulously trimmed, and a bald head. Andy could see tattoos on his hands that must have stretched up his arms, but were obscured by a nicely tailored suit jacket.
Ripley Fields, 45, married, no children; average build, greying light brown hair, no tattoos, cleanly shaven, and had piercing blue eyes. If Andy didn't know any better, he could have passed for a respectable business man.
And then there was Phillip Couperet.
He was 48, same age as Howard. They had gone to school together, apparently. He had been married but his wife passed away two years ago from lung cancer. He had no children. He looked less calm, and more agitated.
Andy looked at him and kept her focus, picking him out to be the one most likely to talk.
He caught her stare and matched it with his own. His eyes were brown, almost black; when he stared it felt like his eyes pierced into her skin.
He wore a single gold ring on his right hand on his pinky finger. There was a thick gold chain around his neck. He was also plump like Howard, but without the full head of hair. He was a Tony Soprano doppelganger but without the Jersey accent.
"You got something to share about these pictures, gentlemen?" Luke piped up finally, leaning forward in his chair and placing his elbows on the table.
Howard spoke first.
"Must have cost you a lot in printing."
Ripley chuckled while Phillip kept staring at Andy. Her heart was beating really fast but she thought maybe she could crack him until he opened his mouth.
"You must be a rookie." His voice was gravelly, probably from habitual smoking.
"Eric Jorgensen." Luke said louder, ignoring Phillip's words and leaning over to pull a picture of Eric's body from the stack.
"Murdered three days ago."
The three men finally acknowledged the picture Luke was indicating. Phillip finally took his eyes off of Andy. She breathed out.
"Throat was slit, dumped in a ditch. Did he not meet a quota in time or something?" Luke prodded.
"Don't even know the kid." Ripley said, pushing the picture away.
"What about Tara Hunter?" Andy found her voice.
Luke looked at her, warning her with his eyes to be careful.
She reached out to the pictures and pulled out Tara's.
"Her body was found within a few yards of Eric's. Same M. O. Stab wound to the neck and drained of blood. You wouldn't know anything about that, would you?"
The three men looked at her. Howard and Ripley shared a look and shrugged. Andy caught the slight twitch in Phillip's face. But it disappeared so quickly she thought she could have imagined it. But she wouldn't forget.
"Looks a little macabre for you three. See this kind of murder," Luke pulled out Eric's picture, a close-up of his neck wounds. "You would expect to be motivated by anger. Eric was rising up in the ranks, wasn't he? You trusted him…he did something that broke that trust. The Rouge Brothers are known for being pretty ruthless."
"Not that you could prove it." Ripley retorted.
"And we resent that label." Howard added.
Andy noticed that Phillip was trying too hard not to look at the pictures. She thought Luke noticed too, as he began directing his questions at Phillip.
He'd also picked him for an easier target.
But their words bounced off the walls as if nobody was even in that room with them.
About two hours later, Luke was forced to release the men. As they filed out of the room with smirks on their faces, apart from Phillip, Andy sidled up to Luke.
"Did you see that?" she whispered after they were out of ear shot.
"See what, Andy?" Luke sounded tired.
Sam joined them then.
"Sam, did you see it?" she asked.
Sam narrowed his eyes with confusion.
"You didn't see Phillip's face when I showed him that picture?" Andy was getting slightly excited.
"I saw something!" she hissed at the both of them.
"Are you sure?" Sam asked.
"Well, no. It was only, like, a split second but I'm sure there was something about that picture that scared him."
"Andy. Just stop." Luke sighed, letting the door to the interrogation room swing closed.
"No, believe me—"
"McNally, let it go, okay? You're not a detective, so quit pretending to be one."
"Hey," Sam protested.
"What?!" Luke raised his voice, turning on Sam.
"How does this have anything to do with you? I was talking to McNally."
"Luke, what the hell…" Andy rounded Luke's frame to get in between the two men, afraid of what all the building tension might result in.
She'd seen Sam almost pummel Luke to the ground before in a retraining session. That was when he was wearing protective gear. The thought of Luke returning the blows to Sam made her blood run cold.
"Calm down, Jesus!" she held her hand up to Luke, as if to stop him from approaching the two of them.
She glanced at Sam, his eyes fixed on Luke, too.
Luke rolled his eyes and stalked off in the opposite direction.
"You sure about what you saw?" Sam finally asked her in a calmer voice.
"Yes. Except…" she hesitated.
He waited and she bit her lip, shaking her head.
"I don't know it's just…it didn't seem like he looked guilty. I don't know."
Sam inclined his head from side to side and grimaced.
"Yeah, maybe. But you gotta remember, McNally; these guys are made to mislead you. This case has been a dead end from the start. If it was these guys, which we know it was, we're finished before we even started. They're meticulous. Never get their hands dirty, never leave any trail."
Andy nodded in understanding, despite feeling differently.
The way she saw it, the three men acted cool because Eric was their courier, but their carelessness about it made Andy believe they knew they were clean. This felt even more true, especially because an outsider was involved, even if she might have been associated with Eric.
One thing was for sure, though. She had to get Phillip Couperet on his own.
Andy and Sam commandeered the interrogation room Luke had been using, setting up all the files and photos associated with the double homicide. Andy had been staring at Tara's picture for almost half an hour when Sam mentioned coffee.
She murmured an order for a soup bowl full of double strength espresso before the door swung closed behind him.
Tara Hunter looked almost serene in death. Andy grew cold looking into her eyes. They gazed at nothing and were slightly obscured by the opaque layer of plastic covering her. She looked like she had been on a night out or something with the way she was dolled up. Her makeup was immaculate, and there was no bloodstaining on her clothes. This suggested she could have been covered in plastic and restrained before she was exsanguinated. But there was no evidence of any ligature marks. Andy swapped to examine the other pictures of Tara, provided by her family. There were dozens, and that wasn't counting the ones uploaded online.
There was something about Tara's personal photos that didn't gel with Andy. In her own photos, Tara never wore makeup. In another photo, Tara's clothes were laid out on a table. The clothes she was found in. They were also fairly clean, and upmarket. Tara wasn't necessarily short of money, but Andy didn't think she was the type that made a wardrobe out of designer clothes.
Andy chewed on her lip and searched for something to compare this idea with. She found Tara's missing persons file. Sam entered the room then, the smell of coffee wafting through the door with him. Andy's mouth watered, but her eyes didn't leave the page. She saw Sam get on his knees out of the corner of her eye, placing her cup next to her knee.
Andy's eyes followed the words on the page and focused on the statement Tara's parents gave following her disappearance.
They described what she looked like, what she was wearing, where and when they last saw her.
Andy did a double take and held up the file to Sam in confusion.
"The Hunters described Tara as wearing jeans, a blue sweater, and a black parka."
Sam was settling himself on the floor against the wall; blowing on his coffee as he took a sip.
He shrugged at her comment.
"So?"
"So," Andy was frowning down at the pictures and picked up one from the crime scene. "She was wearing a cocktail dress, and heels. She didn't even have a jacket on."
"She could have been on her way to a date with Eric…" Sam offered, shaking his head. "Maybe she was going out with her friends."
Andy was already shaking her head.
"It still doesn't make sense. The time frame indicates that Tara disappeared between 10 am on Tuesday when her parents last saw her, and 3 pm when she was supposed to meet her friends for coffee."
Sam looked thoughtful.
"Why would she change into this kind of getup in the middle of the day, and just to meet her friends for coffee?"
Andy didn't like where this theory was leading, but she also knew it had to mean something.
Sam was still on the fence.
"Why would the three musketeers dress her up in nice clothes?" Sam argued, nicknaming the drug ring leaders.
"I'm saying that maybe they didn't do it. What do these characteristics point to in a homicide investigation?" Andy waved the pictures at him for emphasis.
"You think it was serial?"
Andy just looked at him and Sam laughed mirthlessly.
"We can't just go labelling it a serial killer, not with a clear connection between Eric and The Rouge Brothers." Sam reasoned.
Andy sighed and dropped the pictures, grabbing her coffee cup with two hands and inhaling the aroma. She hadn't eaten her whole shift.
"I'm just saying…" she added, slightly deflated that Sam hadn't immediately jumped on board with her theory. "It looks odd. She doesn't seem the type to wear designer clothes or to slather on the makeup. It doesn't look like she ever did, to be honest."
Silence fell over them then.
The whole thing seemed off to Andy. If it was one thing her father taught her about people, it's that they don't like change. Tara Hunter was a natural beauty, and kind of a tomboy. Why had she suddenly broken from habit?
"If it was a serial killer," Sam continued after a few moments. "Why are the wounds different…why does it look like Tara was killed slowly and precisely, while Eric's murder was rushed?"
Andy hadn't considered that. Tara may have looked immaculate, but Eric was another story. His clothes had blood on them. Perhaps that gave more credence to the cartel theory.
"I guess it's possible that they took Tara, kept her as bait, killed her while Eric watched and then did away with him quicker because they ran out of time." Andy thought out loud, still uncomfortable with that theory.
She pinched the bridge of her nose and glanced at her watch.
"It's almost the end of shift anyway. I don't know how much longer Frank is gonna let us stay assigned to this case. It's not like we're helping much."
"Oh, on the contrary, McNally." Sam said and she turned to look at him in surprise. "I think you're doing a great job."
He half-smiled in that charming way that made her pulse race and stutter. She smiled.
"Thanks."
His smile faded and his face became serious again, and he was looking at her in that way, like he did outside her apartment the other night. She was excited and scared at the same time, about what he was going to say next. If he was going to say anything.
"How's your cheek?" was what fell from his lips.
Andy frowned.
"Huh?"
He pointed at her face and she cupped her cheek in recognition, remembering the guy that head butted her. The pain had gone, she'd long forgotten about that incident.
"Oh." She said, shaking her head. "It's—it's fine."
Andy shuffled her way into the locker room after shift ended, stripping off her uniform and pulling on her plain clothes.
She dabbed on a little lip gloss and got a ride with Dov to The Penny. Sam had gotten caught up with Jerry over another case, and he told her not to wait up.
Walking in, the smell of liquor hit her like a wall. The bar was dim with neon signs adorning the walls. She saw Gail slumped over one of the corner tables with Nick rubbing her back. Andy really hoped she hadn't been here since noon, although that would be in true Gail fashion. They were all young so they may as well abuse their livers for another few years while their bodies were still resilient and could handle the nightly poisonings.
Andy was a little more conservative in that respect. She drank, and on occasion, got drunk. But if there was one thing she had promised to herself, it was that she'd never be a drunk. The distinction being that one was a constant state of being. Tommy McNally had recently jumped from that category. However no amount of improvement from her father would ever lead Andy to believe that she was immune to that kind of addiction, especially being in the law enforcement profession, and daughter of said addict.
She took a stool right at the bar and ordered a beer. Dov sat next to her and they talked about work, and his girlfriend, Crystal.
Andy was proud of herself that she never judged Dov about that even if she thought it was a bad decision. She was just glad he was happy. She didn't bring up the homicide case, though, like she was afraid if by sharing it, she would jinx it. They ordered another round and Dov paid for both while Andy hopped down to use the bathroom. On her way across the bar, she spotted a familiar face, staring down the neck of a Budweiser.
Phillip Couperet.
She forgot what she was doing for the moment, and approached him.
Trying to be inconspicuous and failing, she pulled up a barstool next to him and tapped her fingers.
"Listen sweetheart, even if I did deal, I wouldn't deal to a cop."
"So you admit you're a dealer." Andy raised her eyebrow and he glanced up at her with a bored expression.
"I said 'even if I did'."
Andy shook her head, trying to get on course.
"Anyway, I'm not looking to score or anything, okay. I'm not even trying to accuse you of anything-"
"Ha. You'd be a first." He smiled, then took a swig.
"I just wanted to ask you, person to person."
"Listen," he waved his hand at her dismissively. "I don't got time for people, much less cops."
"I know. I'll be quick, I promise." She knotted her hands together anxiously, knowing she was treading a fine line between investigative initiative, and stupidity.
He didn't say anything so she continued.
"When I showed you that picture of Tara." Andy spoke slowly, watching closely for a reaction.
He paused slightly.
"You seemed…scared. I just…I wanted to know why that was. Did you know her?"
"You're not on duty, honey." He chuckled. "You'd better watch what you say."
Andy waited, and he said nothing.
"Please? I feel like I'm the only one who doesn't think it was you and your friends."
That made him laugh.
"Really?! Wow, toots, you're not as dumb as you look."
Andy ground her teeth together in frustration, beginning to regret coming over to talk to him.
"I usually wouldn't give you assholes the time of day. But you don't seem to be too much of an asshole. So I'll give you a little advice."
He crooked his finger and Andy leaned forward.
"Maybe if you people did your job, those kids wouldn't be dead." He whispered into her hair.
She shuddered and pulled away, not knowing what to say.
"What's your motto? 'Serve and Protect'? What a load of bullshit." He muttered. "The day I help the cops is the day I'm one of them."
He downed the rest of his beer and slapped a five dollar note on the bar and got up to leave.
He went to walk past Andy but paused, sighing loudly.
"I'll tell you what, copper; you'll want to get to 'em first before I do."
He brushed his shoulder against hers.
"Really?" she said, trying to get more information, keep him talking to her while he was still being semi-compliant. "I wouldn't pick you for the vigilante type, Phil." She tried to get him to respond, using his first name.
"Well, it's not like cops are any good at it. They couldn't help twelve years ago, how the fuck could they help now?" and with that, he stormed out the door.
Andy knew it was to be expected, but she felt shaken and even more confused than before.