SUSPECT NUMBER 3.

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Disclaimer: I don't own GMW but damn these characters are so much fun to play with! ^_^

Maya Hart; 25; Bartender at Filthy Kitty, a Coyote Ugly type place. Gotten in trouble with the law multiple times since her teenage years. Went to a juvenile correction facility for theft at sixteen. Ran away and joined the circus when released after a year. Came back to the city at twenty one. Currently attending college to receive a bachelor's in studio art and art history. Stated she will cheat and she will steal but she does not lie. Hardheaded, difficult, snarky, indifferent, doesn't care about anything. A stereotypical rebel…?

"Maya Hart. I'm Detective Lucas Friar."

She stared at him, brow raised in amusement as he took a seat in the chair across from her. She had her feet kicked up on the table, arms propped behind her head.

"About time you people finally got around to this questioning thing." She yawned. "Been there, done that. So let's just get this thing out of the way so I can get out of here."

"You think you're innocent?"

She smirked. "Can we get on with this? You're not going to get anything that I haven't already told the other cop."

Lucas' eyes narrowed. "You really think so? You do realize you're dealing with the FBI, don't you? We know you better than you even know yourself. This isn't a game."

"It's always a game, Ranger Rick." She said cryptically.

He felt his irritation spike, already dreading having to talk to this woman.

"Look. I've had a rough morning—"

"Clearly."

"—so if you could stop being difficult and cooperate, that'd be nice."

Maya scoffed, sneering at him. "I love how you're asking me to cooperate, when this whole time I've been telling you to get on with the questioning. If anyone isn't cooperating, it's you."

Lucas' jaw clenched, and he wished he had just grabbed another quick cup of coffee before walking into this room. He thought Missy was bad.

"I'm right." Maya said smugly. "So can you get this thing going? I have a hangover I'd rather be sleeping off right now."

He rolled his eyes and opened her file. She wanted to play a game? Fine, he'd play.

"Maya Hart. As you know, you're one of four suspects in the theft of the Blue Diamond at the museum. And looking at your record, I'd say you're the prime suspect." He glimpsed at her file before meeting her gaze. "Numerous suspensions for fighting at school. Expelled from two. Arrested many times for underage drinking and graffiti, breaking and entering houses through attics, and burglary through deactivating alarms and tampering with security systems. You've stolen quite a bit of stuff in your past. Even went to juvie for stealing a handful of rings from a jewelry store at the mall. You've been involved with some shady people as well. An ex-boyfriend of yours, Brandon, had a small stint in jail for extortion and selling hand crafted imitations of expensive bags and purses."

"Yeah? So what?" She scoffed. "That stuff happened nine years ago. And Brandon and I broke up ages ago. The past is in the past. You're grasping for straws, Huckleberry. I'm sure you can do better than that."

"Am I? Those aren't skills you just lose overnight." Lucas said with a raised brow. "You showed up at the museum with your studio art course around 12:57. Your class took a tour at 1:00. Around 1:08, you were sighted slipping away from the tour and went to the diamond case. The officer watched as you stood there, sketching the diamond. Then you went to the bathroom around 1:27 before rejoining your class for the end of the tour. I'd say that's pretty suspicious behaviour."

"Sure, I'll give you that one, Sundance. I probably did look suspicious. And hell yeah, I could definitely see why someone would steal the stone. It's gorgeous. But I'm an artist. I draw beautiful things. The diamond was particularly beautiful. Drawing is how I document the best things that happen to me. And obviously, I wouldn't be able to sketch it out during the tour."

"You couldn't take a picture of the diamond instead?"

"I can barely pay my rent, Hopalong." She snorted derisively, "You think I can afford a smartphone or a camera?"

He ignored her irritating little nickname.

"Is money a real issue for you?"

"I mean, sure. In the way that every adult has to deal with general expenses of living." She shrugged. "But I don't care. It doesn't bother me."

"But it does, doesn't it?" he questioned. "You're not as tough as you think you are."

"Why don't you come around to this side of the table so I can kick your ass and then we can see if that's true or not?"

"Play up the tough act all you want. You're not fooling anyone." He crossed his arms over his chest. "Katy Hart. Went to prison for possession of illegal drugs and breaking parole when you were sixteen. Did six years."

"What the hell does my mother have anything to do with this investigation?"

"It has everything to do with this investigation. Because you went to juvie as a consequence of trying to steal rings so you could sell them and pay for her release."

Maya said nothing, staring at him with slightly narrowed eyes.

"Your mother checked herself into a rehabilitation facility for substance abuse a while ago. Rehab isn't exactly cheap. Especially for a woman who doesn't work. You're paying for her treatment with your job funds, but I'm sure it must be stretching you thin. You're on scholarship at the college you attend, but I'm sure you're worried about how you'll pay for grad school once you graduate."

"You dogs really dig up a lot of dirt." Maya chuckled, looking at her fingernails.

"That's not all." He continued. "Maya Penelope Hart. Gold medalist in several nationwide junior gymnastics competitions in your youth. You took gymnastics lessons until your mom developed a habit when you were twelve. Then your life of crime and delinquency began. After your year in juvie, you ran away with the circus for about four years. Contortionist act and lead acrobat. Despite the lazy exterior you project, you're very athletic and agile—"

"I'm also very flexible." She said with a saucy wink.

"—enough to easily snatch a diamond. Small enough to sneak around undetected. Small enough to fit in vents. There's a lot of evidence pointing to you as the diamond thief."

"It does seem that way, doesn't it? And from a skilled thief's POV, stealing it would be more easily done by someone small and quick and light on their feet." Maya said in amusement. "But you're not doing your job right, Huckleberry. Innocent until proven guilty, remember? You're acting like you've already decided I'm guilty."

"You don't exactly scream innocent."

"Sure, sure. Do you want to at least know what I was doing that night?"

"I doubt it'll help you much, but go right ahead. Surprise me."

"Well, I showed up for work at 7:54, ready to help my boss handle the wave of customers. It was a pretty busy night, you know? Live entertainment and all. So I worked the counter until about 9:12. Then I asked my boss if I could take a break to go to the bathroom. At 9:47, I was finally done."

"You're kidding, right? You were on the toilet for thirty five minutes." he deadpanned. "Is everything a joke to you?"

"I didn't grow up with the best diet, you know. So I developed some… digestive issues, to put it politely." She snorted, biting her lip to keep from laughing out loud, "Anyway, I was back to working the counter at 9:50 where I stayed for the rest of the night until we closed at 4 AM. Ask my boss."

"Did anyone see you while you were doing your business in the bathroom?"

She gave him a dry look.

"I take that as a no. So you've got a hole in your alibi from 9:12 to 9:47 if nobody can confirm they saw you during that time. As far as I'm concerned, I'd say you're still the prime suspect."

"Oh sure. Suspect the criminal why dontcha." Maya said sarcastically with a wry grin, removing her feet from the table and slouching in her chair, resting her chin on the table. "I guess my past will forever follow me, no matter what I do. What a miserable existence, never being able to be anyone new because people who don't even know me judge me for the mistakes I made in the past. Once a criminal, always a criminal."

Lucas' eyes narrowed. "I'd say we're done here, wouldn't you?"

"So your verdict is that I'm guilty?"

"No. There's no concrete or direct evidence pointing to you." Lucas said, slamming her file shut and standing up, "But you're still the prime suspect."

"Hold on a second." Maya said, her eyes shining in mirth, "I wasn't finished yet. Something interesting happened at Filthy Kitty that night."

Lucas stared at her in distrust, wondering if he wanted to listen to her twisted words any more. Everything seemed like a joke to her. Who was to say she wouldn't keep playing around annoyingly? His patience was wearing thin enough as it was and he still had one more person to question.

"Don't you want to know about this interesting thing?"

"I'm listening."

"Harley Keiner. You know him?"

Harley Keiner was suspected for being involved in a number of high profile jewel heists and robberies that Lucas had investigated in the past. Despite being questioned several times by several different agents, no crimes were ever able to be tied back to him. Lucas knew he was involved in those old high profile cases. But he always managed to evade capture for insufficient evidence.

His jaw clenched. "I know who he is. You're saying you say him at Filthy Kitty?"

"It was a busy night, but I'm pretty sure I saw ole Q ball. He came around 11:15 ish. Disappeared towards the bathrooms at 11:18. Left around 11:23 ish. The other time I saw him was about three months ago. He came on a coyote ugly night, flirted with our other bartender, Darby, but he left shortly after."

"Did you speak to him?"

"Never. Like I said, busy nights. I was serving drinks." She said sarcastically. "I am the bartender, you know?"

"Why are you telling me this?"

"I'm rewarding you for managing to dig that deep into my personal life and past which I've always managed to keep out of the prying hands of law enforcement."

Lucas glared at her. "How exactly did you manage that? This kind of stuff should show up on your record."

"Like you said," Maya shrugged nonchalantly, "I used to be involved with some pretty shady people. Taught me how to 'fix' my record when I needed to."

"You know you can go to jail for that, right? You just confessed to a crime." Lucas said as Maya rolled her eyes in disinterest.

"Okay. I don't care."

"Right, right. Because you're this tough rebel in leather and dark makeup totally impervious to anything in the world, yeah?"

"You're going to talk about what I look like when you're pretty unkempt? You didn't even shave and your hair is all over the place on your head." Maya snorted. "I thought you agents were supposed to be more put together. Shady glasses, suit and tie, clean shaven, hair slicked back. Did you get dressed in a barn?"

"Those are spies." He ignored her quip at his obvious disheveled state. "I'm an FBI agent."

"So what you're saying is that you FBI agents are slobs."

"Enough." He barked. "I don't have time for this."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa. Where do you think you're going, Bucky McBoingBoing? The game isn't over." Maya smirked. "You made your move. But now it's my turn. Let me reward you again."

"What?"

"I wasn't just a contortionist for the circus, you know? I also did palm readings and fortunes and stuff like that. Because I can read people very well. And you're no exception, cowboy. Here we go."

Lucas' narrowed his eyes.

She grinned, her eyes sparkling mischievously.

"I've got you totally figured out. So... you grew up spending time on Pappy Joe's big farm in Texas. Then when you turned ten, I guess, your father forced you to stop going to the farm and to focus on your studies. Oh but you didn't like that. Little Lucas resented his father, turned into an ass himself. Ever the controlling ass—Papa Friar, that is—Mama Friar made you move with her after the separation so you wouldn't get into any trouble because you acted out against your dad. Ironically, you entered law enforcement in the future after getting kicked out of school for acts of delinquency. Thus, the Lucas Friar in front of me was born.

"To finish up, your no-nonsense attitude is a result of the lack of control in your own life in your youth. Hell, the permanent scowl on your face is an effort to try to mask the fact that you have some deep problems. Except your abrasive and brusque manner of speaking and difficulty controlling your particularly difficult suspects—aka me—only goes to show you honestly have some pretty bad demons in your past. Ergo, your lack of patience and obvious irritability? Nefarious underlying anger issues you keep pushing further and further down, hoping they'll go away on their own eventually only for them to pop right back in your face. Deep down you're terrified of becoming your father and every day that goes by, you slowly realize you're becoming him, a workaholic, jaded, angry, impatient, and controlling man."

He glared at her in silence as she quirked a brow.

"Tell me I'm wrong."

"Just sit here and shut the hell up."

Her loud, obnoxious cackles followed Lucas as he left the room and slammed the door shut behind him.

Farkle looked like he was holding back a laugh as Lucas gave him back the file and took the last one.

"So… clearly you think she stole the diamond?" Farkle said.

"I don't like her. Something's fishy."

Farkle smirked. "You sure it's not just you pissed off that she was able to guess your life story?"

"No." He shot Farkle an annoyed look. "She has the background and expertise to pull off this kind of heist. And her possible motive would be the most desperate. To help her mom."

"You do have a point…" Farkle said, "But then again, so did she. We can't just assume she did the crime. Either way, at least there's only one more left to go."

"Right."

The woman with the glasses.