And here we go folks – part two! I'm sorry about the wait… I was depending on some annual leave giving me lots of me-time that didn't actually arrive in that kind of quantity, lol.
If you recall, we left Jan in the rather committing position of pressing a preganant Rottweiler against the floor while awaiting animal control…
Thanks so much for all the wonderful reviews, and I'm really glad you enjoyed the first part! I hope that the second follows through ok xxxxxx
By the time Nick got off the phone with Captain Wilson, full back up had arrived. Harper came to take Stern's body away; a bus turned up for the girls and animal control was hovering around Jan. Or rather, animal control was cowering behind an unhurried vet sitting cross legged close to the Rottweiler's head, his fingers steepled under his chin. Jan was sweating heavily and clearly tiring. Sure, so he was huge, strong and heavy, but it wasn't exactly a Chihuahua he was trying to suppress. Nick was just jogging over to see if he could help when Wu fell into pace with him.
"Hey Nick."
"What you doing over here? A little off your patch, isn't it?"
"Do not get me started. I had ten minutes till end of shift when the great Gresham-cover nightmare resumed. Never mind… Whoa! What the hell is going on?"
Nick followed his gaze over to the dog, which had resumed a fresh spit-spraying round of furious barking and struggling while Jan tried to hang on, arguing tersely with the vet.
"…I've barely got her under control as it is! I'm not 'spooning' with a vicious dog!..."
"…it would help if I could get a better view of her underside…"
Nick blinked as Jan rolled sideways, now struggling insanely to keep his grip and yelling with effort ― through gritted teeth. "Well, He's … ah…"
Wu put his hands on his hips. "Gives a whole new meaning to 'curious incident of the dog in the night time.'"
Nick pressed his hand to his mouth to silence his involuntary laugh ― no way would he go after a guard dog and lie on top of it ― but it cut short as Jan's patience finally hit its limit with the vet.
"WOULD YOU PLEASE GET ON WITH IT? HOW MUCH MORE 'STILL' DO YOU WANT THIS FUCKING DOG?"
"She's pregnant! I need to do this carefully!"
Wu scratched his head. "Y….eah. In good time, this is going to be high on my list of things to mock him for. But I might wait for him to get his sense of humour back first. I'll just go get him some pills."
"Pills?"
"Anti-histamines. I keep some in my glove box. Pollen and I ― we don't dance."
Nick bent down by the dog's back legs and hovered his hands, wondering where it would be safe to get a grip without getting ripped. . Then he heard a squeak. He looked down. A black and tan bundle pulled its head out of the grit by his knee. It was sticky and confused and tipped over onto its back, tinsy legs flailing. "Whooo..."
Nick put a tentative hand up, but what was he supposed to say? 'Congratulations, it's a boy-pup?'
He didn't have to say anything ― Jan of the spooky hearing lifted his head, his expression full of flat, weary darkness through the bloodshot eyes. "Please tell me that wasn't what I thought it was?"
Nick crumpled his face in apologetic confirmation as pup number two appeared.
"Splendid!" Death-wish vet announced, "She's whelping. It's all the stress you see. A fairly premature labour, but…" he shuffled down to the business end, alongside Nick, and scooped the pups into his hands. "From the size of these little fellows… not dangerously so. Righto ― there's at least one more, then I can pop her to sleep for a while to recover."
Jan's expression suggested that he could care less about the dog's recovery. Not much less, but still…
… Twenty minutes later, they were back at the car, Nick fuming at Big Phoebe making a run for it while Jan had been busy holding down the animal that nearly made mincemeat of her. Jan was tipping backwards over his car roof at strange angles, trying to wash itching out of his eyes with a bottle of mineral water without soaking all his clothes.
"Where do you think she went?" Nick asked, exasperated. It wasn't as if prostitutes had a directory, and she'd apparently refused point blank ever to tell Jan where her 'base' was. "She's got to know that we need to speak to her, right? About what this guy in the Audi looked like?"
"Helping the police is not high on her list of priorities."
"I thought she was an informant?"
"Bugger!" Jan tipped a good glug of the bottle all over himself and wiped the water off his face. "There's a trust curve to follow with informants and you need to protect them from a lot of stuff before they start seeing you as the lesser of several evils. Depending on who they're working for, they can disappear without trace if caught 'snitching'."
"And you stopping her from getting chewed up doesn't count as 'protecting her from stuff'?"
Jan peeled off his soaked shirt, popping his trunk. "I'm a bit lower down the curve with Big Phoebe than I am with Freebie. Then again, Big has had a shittier life. It'll take her longer to want to help."
"You are weirdly chilled about this."
"Chilled?" Jan snorted, pulling a fresh teeshirt over his head. "I can barely see, I'm cold, I'm aching, I'm feeling ever-so-slightly traumatised after having puppies-by-proxy... Actually, I'm angry. She's probably hurt and neither of us saw a purse on her or in the Caddy trunk, so where she's going to go tonight, I have no idea. It was stupid of her to run."
Nick thought it was pretty thankless, too, but limited himself to an irritated sigh. Five of them had now been up close to Audi-guy, but he knew how to stay in the shadows. The dazed girl from the passenger seat couldn't help much, barely remembering her own name. Jan grumbled quietly in the background as he braced his arms against the side of the car and lunged backwards, trying to stretch his back out.
"Want me to drive back?"
Jan's eyes widened in dread. "That's very kind of you, Nick, but―"
"The answer to that is 'yes'," Wu cut in suddenly, as he approached.
"But―"
"I've taken the liberty of transferring Nick's insurance details from the squad room over to your car. Jan, you are not driving home. The anti-histamines will make you drowsy."
"But the car's―"
"'Nuff!" Wu barked, and pulled the driver door open for Nick. "Jan, obey! Tonight, you get chauffeured."
Jan smiled emotionally, putting a protective hand on the roof like he was fighting between appearing ungracious and fearing terribly for his car. Nick reached way up and slapped him consolingly on the shoulder, then slid the driver seat forward about ten notches. "I'll drive like a centenarian, I promise."
"I didn't get anything more from the girl in the bus, but they're taking her to Treeview under the name 'Jane Adamson'. You guys go straight home tonight, and you can try her memory and conversational skills again tomorrow. Hell, where's she going now?"
Nick trotted forward to intercept the wobbly girl as she approached, but she toddled round him and headed decisively for Jan. He looked down at her quizzically, then jumped slightly as she issued a waist-height sneak hug, mumbled something about 'really nice big guys', then turned and toddled back to the ambulance, about five degrees off course. Nick went after her, steering her back to the gurney, where he gave her a warm smile and helped the paramedic lay her back out again. She stared glassily at him as the back doors were shut and the bus took off.
You're welcome, he thought, clearly not classing as a nice big guy, then inched the car out of the lot and towards the freeway.
X x X
Sean had precisely five minutes of work done at just before eight in the morning when DeMarcos crashed into his office, really not very good on his crutches. He gazed up calmly. "I thought you were on leave?"
"I'm fine. You're off relief." Grunting, DeMarcos made his way round the back of his desk and ditched his crutches into the corner. "Oh, and take that red file, second back on the Cabinet by the door. Needs to go to the DA's office, care of a guy called Berlingo. Press agent."
"Right," Sean said stiffly.
The name was very, very familiar and at least now he had a completely legitimate reason to go ruffle the agent's feathers and see if he woged to Lausenschlange as suspected. Still, a little more courtesy from DeMarcos wouldn't hurt. For example, calling him earlier to say he could head straight for West Side: that would've been helpful. He packed up, took the file and just had his hand on the door when he was called back.
"Renard ― when you gonna pull your finger out your ass and go for your Captaincy board?"
He looked back, curious. "There are no vacancies. Are there?"
"So, pass your board and then wait for a vacancy for your interview. I'm not going to be Captain forever. When I've moved up, I want someone decent in charge of this place. Go get your substantive rank ― it'll be a walk in the park and God knows you spend enough time covering."
While all this was very gratifying, Sean distrusted it. "Why wouldn't you back your own Lieutenants?"
DeMarcos looked a little depressed all of a sudden. "They're fine as Lieutenants, but… you and me, we have that natural air of command, right? The sergeants worship the floors we walk across 'cause we do what needs to be done. They cheer lead us. They know that when they report problems with their guys, we'll set 'em straight without doing 'kumbaya', or calling them by their Christian names, or mopping their bloodied heads after gambling debt beat-ups."
Sean knew exactly what DeMarcos was referring to ― Wilkes' lax discipline ― but happened to take Wilson's view that keeping people at surname-length was a good way of keeping them home when you needed them to do overtime. He smiled politely on his way out. "Thanks. I'll bear that in mind."
He wasn't one to look a gift horse in the mouth, even if that mouth talked absolute shit most of the time. A natural air of command? It must be nice for DeMarcos, living on that totally different planet of his. Sean left the building at a fast march, shaking his head in disbelief. Worshipped by the Sergeants? Hardly. He could see Wu bribing the cleaners to apply that extra layer of polish to the marble on the off-chance the Captain would go skidding and break something unpleasant.
It took him precisely five minutes to get over to the DA's office and up to the finance and corporate services floor, where the press team usually sat. Getting there, he found that Berlingo had managed to relocate himself a little closer to the legal bullpen. Or else, he'd been moved there. A lot of the DA staff were under tighter watch right now: Sean knew this because his white collar guys were burning the midnight oil trying to find evidence of misuse of public funds by some of the public servants. Sean knew that they were close to bringing him down because of his undeclared business interests in the Hampton Grill in the Pearl, but he didn't want the man to be shamed for anything less than the full-scale abduction and assault crime wave he was responsible for: supplying girls to his 'associates' to get them through the Lausenschlange mating season.
Sean trotted upstairs, feeling progress at last: if he could frustrate Berlingo into a woge in an office of Jagerbar lawyers, his colleagues may be less inclined to protect him under the media embargo surrounding investigations into public servants. In which case, Nick and his partner could follow standard investigative procedures to bring Berlingo down without having to tiptoe around. But time was of the essence: mating seasons could go on for weeks, leaving a lot of women from all backgrounds turning up drugged and assaulted in the woods. He stood and stared at Berlingo from the corridor by the lifts, determined to get him, this time.
He'd investigated Berlingo during the last mating season, last year, but then the attacks stopped and he couldn't justify taking enquiries any further. He couldn't even confirm that Berlingo was Lausenschlange, back then. It was all smoke, shadows, instincts and patterns. The cop side of him held back from casual off-list murder on the grounds of species. But if he'd seen Berlingo woge, he'd have simply put him on Kessler's hit list. He got his laptop out of its case and held it, the file on top.
He rapped on Berlingo's desk and dropped the red file. "Delivery from Tony DeMarcos."
"What is it?" Berlingo didn't look up.
Sean bristled. "It's sealed. So presumably it concerns a particularly… slippery individual."
Pale blue eyes snapped up, paranoid, but then he recovered himself. "Put in the intray. I'll get to it."
"You do that. No one likes extra work when they're… tired."
"You saying I look tired?"
"It's the shadows under the eyes." Sean hinted at the lilac markings that sometimes indicated the Lausenschlange in human form. "Burning the candle at both ends? Take it easy."
He turned and walked away before the guy could reply, checking the reflection in his laptop surface. Definitely Lausenschlange. He noticed a guy with dark hair a couple of desks down lift his head and glare over, startled and furious, wogeing briefly to Reinigen and back. Sean took note: he could be useful to speak to. He headed straight for the stairs and trotted all the way down, surprisingly overtaken on the third landing by a sobbing Maushertz girl about half his size.
His main job was done. He couldn't tell Nick or partner outright that Berlingo was responsible, because that was wesen knowledge. But he could give him last year's assault box files and suggest a connection. He drove back to West Side and settled himself behind his own desk, pleased to see Wu covering for Walsh. The guy was on the ball and returned from evidence with the files in about fifteen minutes. Wu always looked pleased to see him: maybe DeMarcos had a point about Sergeants hero-worshipping harder commanders, after all. Not that he was a commander, or even Captain ―yet.
"Where do these need to go?" Wu asked, stacking them.
"Gresham. Burkhardt and Ver… Fverk… fver-g-"
"Fver-gkay-er." Wu chuckled. "It took me 12 tries to say it to his satisfaction. Though I'm not sure how attempt 12 was so radically different from attempts 2, 3, 6, 9… you get the idea. There was an edict last year banning the use of his surname. I think even the perps call him Jan."
"Very wise." Renard leant back in his seat and stretched.
"So, what news from Portland?"
"Very little," Sean admitted. "I was there long enough for DeMarcos to tell me the value of cheerleading sergeants, and then sent back."
"Cheerleading sergeants are valuable?" Wu pondered this for a split second before launching into a compact but lively pom-pom routine. "TWO, FOUR, SIX, EIGHT! WHO SHALL WE INCARCERATE?"
Sean blinked, startled by the enthusiasm, and Wu's face fell.
"Was that a little much?"
"Just a little… early."
"I get it. No cheer-leading before coffee. I'll ah… get the rest of those boxes."
"Thank you." Sean waited for Wu to disappear before allowing his chuckle to release into the back of his hand. A strange guy, but one to keep an eye on. No brain-mouth filter, but very quick. And he kept his guys well in check: the beat cops respected him.
The other guys from white collar started filing into the squad room, looking weary and disgruntled. It was wearying having to coax along detectives who made it so obvious with their every movement that they'd rather be somewhere else, even if they were very good at their jobs, and courteous to him. He stared out the window to distract himself from the expressions of protracted-case misery on their faces. Should he forget being a cop on this one? Just hand Berlingo straight to Kessler and be done with it? Or see how Nick dealt with it as a straightforward cop? He knew very little about the Grimm's nephew, doing no more over the years since he'd passed out from the academy than keep a vague eye on where he was… just in case Kessler went rogue. He couldn't exactly bluff a threat to Nick's safety if he didn't even know where he was stationed. But he was curious to see how Nick operated ― what kind of a man he'd turned into.
Still: there had to be a time limit. He couldn't let more girls turn up assaulted or dead while he satisfied his curiosity. At least Nick had Jan working with him. The Dutch Giant had a reputation for being by-the-book and a little overprotective. Nick couldn't get into too much trouble.
X x X
Nick grabbed his Macchiato and Muffin at Starbucks, and a copy of the Portland Post from a vendor, then headed back to his desk to carry on his make-and-model search. His printouts were spread out next to his picture of the back of the car. The exact spec, he couldn't remember, and he was still embarrassed about not making more of an effort with the plates, but he'd noted the shape and a couple of specific identifying details, like the v-shaped dent in the exhaust at the bottom; a circular sticker in the rear window, bottom left, with a blocky inner motif and blue circle around the outside. If they didn't have any luck with 'Jane Adamson' at Treeview, he might go car-park stalking around the official buildings. See if he found the vehicle that had taken off the previous night.
Jan had arrived while he was away and gave him a friendly wave. "Morning, Nick. You were in early."
"I'm doing what I can with the car, since we don't have much else to go with."
"It's very diligent of you. Thanks."
Nick glanced over, but Jan's face was as open as ever while he pored through his paper, his feet up on the desk. He must stop looking for sarcasm in everything. He'd only ever heard 'thanks' from Wu while in uniform. Well… Whelan had said thanks from time to time, but Nick had to put himself through a one-man training academy to recognise 'um thanks' among his range of grunts. Jan looked tired, but seemed a lot brighter this morning.
"How are you feeling, anyway? Sleep alright?"
"Much more sanguine, thank you. But I got very, very little sleep. I was trying to track down Big Phoebe until three."
Nick frowned. "I'm telling Wu. Did you drive?"
"Don't tell Wu! I'll get no peace. But no, I didn't drive. I haunted some of her haunts on foot."
"Find her?"
"Sadly not. But then I spent a couple of exhausting but productive hours with Freebie."
Nick snickered into his coffee.
"A couple of hours on the phone, Nick. Filthy rookie. Anyway, Big called her - firstly to say that she's never talking to me again, because it's just too dangerous... yes, yes….I know how you feel about that. Secondly, Big heard at least some of Stern's half of his phone conversation with Audi-guy while she was stuck in the boot of the caddy."
"While they were en route?"
Jan nodded. "Stern was yelling that he didn't care what nearly happened when Audi-guy was working back at the Mayor's office, and that he still expected his $800 per girl for 'the pool'."
Nick felt vaguely ill. All this told them was that Audi-Guy was in an influential role and appeared to be 'collecting' girls to share with others. Even if they got him, they still had others to bring down. "So, all we can do for now to tick the mayor's office off our list of places he might be working?"
"I know, Nick. It's a grim situation. But… the Mayor's office is a good place to cross off our list. They're not good to tangle with." Jan picked his paper back up. "I'm just going through local politics. The first press conference, we're turning up with eyes peeled for shifty behaviour."
It was way too early to call Treeview to fix a visiting time, so Nick swept his Audi pictures to one side and decided to focus on what that rear window sticker on the Audi looked like. He bent over a clean sheet of paper and started drawing with his eyes closed. It made for a messy first draft, but it was the best way to empty his memory out and get the basic shapes down. Then, on the other half of the sheet, he drew it neater, using the brain-dump version to trigger a clearer memory of the block outline shape in the middle of the circle. Jan might recognise it. He walked round his partner's side of the desk to see what had him reading so keenly, and his eyes caught on page 6's sub-lead: "DA's office goes to war on public officials mixing business with service."
Next to the article, a picture of the Assistant DA, clustered by four people behind. The guy probably didn't even go to the can alone. They'd clearly been caught by the press coming out of the car park. A quick glance at the four people behind dismissed them all as suspects: two were too skinny, two too female. But he did notice, behind the entourage, that the DA's office had a lot of black cars. He squinted over Jan's shoulder, leaning on him to get a good look.
Jan sighed. "Nick, I know that newspapers are always more fascinating when someone else is reading them, but that's a little... distracting."
Nick ducked under Jan's elbow to get closer to the paper, forcing his partner to widen his grip on the edges to accommodate his sudden, crowding appearance between his arms.
"Nick! You've got your own paper over there!"
"This is nearer." Nick held up his picture of the window sticker doodle. "Do you know what this is?"
Jan sighed from behind. "Yes. It looks a lot like a press parking sticker."
He pointed at the rear window of one of the black cars in the picture. "Like one of those?"
"There was one of those on the Audi? Nick… you've just narrowed things down enormously."
"Morning gents!" Captain Wilson swept into her office and hung up her coat, then swept back, even without the coat. As they chorused their 'morning Ma'am's, she looked between them dubiously. "I'm sure you'll tell me why you're cuddling behind a copy of the Portland Post."
"We're sharing the paper," Jan explained.
"Of course you must, because there's only one copy in Portland." She picked up Nick's and waved it in sarcastic surprise. "Goodness me, a spare. How lucky."
"I did make that observation," Jan said archly, and Nick pinged out from under his raised arm as quickly as decorum would allow. "However, aside from a certain imperviousness to social cues, Nick also has a pair of eagle eyes. We're a lot closer to finding out who this second man is."
The Captain looked at Jan in interest. Nick waited with an internal sigh for him to summarise everything 'they' had found, but Jan gazed at him expectantly.
"Well come on, Nick. You weren't that shy a minute ago."
Delighted at not having his 'reveal' stolen, Nick set out were they were with things. The Captain nodded at intervals, her arms folded, and then told him to do what he was going to do anyway, which was to visit the car park at the DA's office and take all the press cars' plate numbers.
"It's a little undignified, I'm afraid," Wilson apologised. "Under different circumstances, you would just march into reception and request that information, but―"
"―But there are no 'suspects' at the DA's office. I get it."
She smiled at him. "Good. One word of caution ―don't get too excited just yet. Most corporate services people ―including the press agents ― work with fleet cars, and they tend to share them. So there's still a little way to go to pin down the driver, but… good job. Really."
Nick felt the love as she returned to her office, but felt a little disheartened in the same moment. "Damn. Fleet cars. I'd forgotten about that."
"She's forgotten the 'brand' factor," Jan said, turning what looked like a string bracelet round in his fingers. "Hand me your car picture?"
Nick did, watching in fascination as Jan did extremely complicated things with the string with the fingers of one hand while he mused. It wasn't so much a cat's cradle he was making, as a cat's bunk-bed.
"Bloody hell, Nick. You're a good artist…. Ok, I think I can pin down the model. There are only a couple with that trunk shape. If this is a 'fleet car', then it's only for a handful of senior execs. It's a beautiful, expensive ride, Nick. It's for spin doctors, not wordsmiths. Go on over, I'll catch you up."
"See you there!" Nick grabbed his jacket and bounded from the building, grabbing a cab over to the DA's as his car was making some suspicious noises. For the first five minutes of the ride, he felt vaguely glowy. Then suddenly remembered he was supposed to have called Lieutenant Renard. Crap. He snatched his cell out and called Portland, only to find Renard had gone back to West Side. Re-dialling, he expected a happy Wu. Wrong.
"What's up? I thought you'd be working on your schemes for Team Renard?"
"DOOMED. How's our miffed midwife this morning?"
Nick chuckled. "He's fine. C'mon what's up?"
"Nick, 'Doomed' is usually a hint to change the fricking subject. But… gnnn... Ok. I'm telling you, I've set back Team Renard recruitment by like… five months. I was so overwhelmed by the freedom of not being at Portland that I made an ass of myself. Renard made some conversation all by himself, lulling me into a false sense of informal security, so I tried a line and he looked at me like I'd sprouted whiskers or something. "
Nick tried to sound grave. "I'm not sure I'd cope if you sprung whiskers mid-conversation. But I don't think that means that the great love affair has necessarily gone cold. He could just have a lot of stuff on his mind."
Wu sniffed indignantly. "Whatever. What can I do for you?"
"I was hoping to speak to him, actually. Captain Wilson asked me to call him this morning."
"You'll have to wait for him to get back ― the white collar boys have moved on an audit lead so he rushed off with them. He was probably just letting you know about case boxes coming your way. He had me retrieve them for you. They're being driven over to Gresham in a few minutes."
"Hang in there, buddy. Just tell him I returned his call, ok?"
Nick pocketed his cell and paid the cabbie, then trotted into the 1890s building. A badge flash at reception and wide-eyed story that someone was probably using and abusing their parking facilities got him into the internal areas of the garage and he spent about ten minutes zipping around, taking plate numbers as well as makes and models where he recognised them, but he didn't see the Audi. At least not one with a bent exhaust and a press sticker. Damn. So he walked through the open section of the car park up to a café and sat outside with a coffee while waiting for Jan.
There was drama on the next table. A red-eyed, mousy kind of girl sat bolt upright, trying to collect herself as her male companion leant over the table, talking quietly to her, his hand over hers.
"But what are they doing?" the girl almost spat, "I moved offices and upheaved everything to get away from that guy!"
"Nothing's going to happen, Edie. I'm sitting yards away from him. I'm not letting him near your desk. I promise."
"Why did they move that creep? On promotion? He's in the press team, he belongs downstairs!"
Nick heard the guy sigh quietly. He couldn't help tuning in, but he didn't want to stare rudely so continued to stare over at the DA's carpark exit.
"Edie, I don't think this is promotion. Someone reported a suspicion that he's working on his private business in office time. He's been moved into open plan to make it difficult for him to operate."
"I don't care about any of that corporate crap! I know it was him that tried to grab me last year. I know it! It was bad enough when he came over from the Mayor's office, but I was doing ok while he was in a completely different part of the building. Personnel know about this – why the hell would they move him so close to me? Or doesn't it matter that some PA got chased down an alley?"
"Of course it matters!"
"It might to you, but…"
Nick was properly tuned in now. Way too many links with what he was dealing with. He pondered how he would gently enter their conversation and flicked a quick glance over at them. The girl had the look of someone with a petite build, small wrists, narrow shoulders, quite short, but who had stacked on a lot of stress weight. The girl wasn't 'big', by any means: probably no bigger than a size 12. But she was still dressing a denial size smaller than she was, and, as he tried to drop his gaze so he wasn't staring at them directly, he saw the tell-tale stretch marks just above her knees, showing through her tights where her skirt was all bunched up.
Well, he knew how stress-eating felt. After his parents had died he went a little crazy for a while and it took a self-imposed boot camp and the formation of a couple of proper friendships to get him back on an even keel and keep him there.
"Did you want something, buddy?" the guy asked sharply, and Nick looked back up with a guilty start, realising he was still staring at the girl's legs. He got his badge out.
"Sorry. I'm a detective with Special Victims at GPD. I kind of automatically tune into the kind of conversation you're having. Did you ever report the guy that chased you?"
She stared miserably down at the tablecloth. "Almost. I got talked out of it by friends. They thought I shouldn't rock the boat unless I could prove it was him."
Nick nodded. That was understandable. "And you first saw him on your floor… just now?"
"Yeah. Well, a little while ago. I've kind of been hiding out here while I figure out what to do."
"Did this guy see you?"
"I-I don't think so. Not yet."
That was something at least, Nick figured. She might at least have the chance to move again before he noticed her, unless she was prepared to rock the boat, this time. "What's his name?"
"Erneste Berlingo," the guy answered for her, his face set with anger. "He's the biggest shit walking."
Nick straightened in his seat, remembering Freebie's summary of Stern's conversation with Audi-Guy: he'd been working at the mayor's office… "Can you tell me exactly when you were― ma'am, are you ok?"
She was staring wide-eyed past him to the front of the building, wide-eyed, then ducked her face down into her hands. Nick turned and looked. The DA was trotting down the steps in the company of a group of guys who split up across three cars. One crossed over the street to his vehicle, apparently driving alone. Nick's gaze flicked between lone driver and the girl, and he put his hand on her shoulder, thumbing back over his.
"Is that him?"
She nodded vigorously and Nick sprinted across the road on the green light, up the sidewalk, and nearly caught up with the Audi as it was pulling out, but not quite. It had the press sticker and the dented exhaust. But it had already joined traffic before he was close enough to rap on the window. Damn. But at least he had ID and a plate number, now. He jogged back to the café table and was pulling his jacket off the back of his chair when Jan pulled up. Nick brought Jan up to speed and Jan checked the plate number against the one he had on a scrap of paper in his wallet.
"Good work, Nick. That's excellent. Ok, so we know who he is. Would you excuse us one moment?" This was directed at the pair outside the café, as Jan led him to one side, dropping his voice and looking serious. "Do you think Berlingo saw you chasing his car?"
Nick tried to remember. "I don't think so. The closest I got was probably in his blind spot anyway. Why?"
"Because we need to make quite a few collaborative calls before we can make this collar, and it's easier to catch up with him if he's still following the same routine, believing himself to be undetected."
Shit. Nick hadn't thought about that, but then, he needed to get close enough to the car to check that the office girl's alley-grabber and their Audi-guy were one and the same. Still, he felt hesitant. "I don't think he realised anything was up. He didn't pull out in a hurry, at least."
"That's good." Jan pulled out his cell. "I'll update our Captain. Nick, try to persuade her to make a retrospective statement about last year's assault, and see if you can get the name of this private business he's supposedly running. They might have physical premises that he goes to visit."
As Jan wandered off round the corner to make the private call, Nick went back to the mousy girl and her hand-holding friend. Because he was a 'friend'. According to the girl's body language. Nick saw in the guy's face a vague sense of peace to be the one next to her when she was upset, being leant on, and he clearly wanted to be a great deal more than her friend. Nick hoped that secret feelings were lurking on both sides and that they'd work that out between them, at some stage. They seemed to care about each other a great deal.
Unfortunately, she didn't care a great deal about helping him with bringing Berlingo down, because her life was stressful enough and she didn't trust those 'asswipes' upstairs to keep a decent space between them if the charges didn't stick. She would give a statement ― after he was arrested. Not before. Her guy-buddy backed her up, to his disappointment, but no surprise. Naturally he would say whatever made him supportive to his would-be-girlfriend, right now.
As much as Nick grasped all the emotional dynamics in this, he struggled to keep himself from pacing with frustration as he explained that Berlingo may not go down without her statement.
"Look," she snapped finally, suddenly standing up all tall after he'd tried to approach the appeal from a third angle, "I came running out the personnel director's office this morning because he wouldn't move me away from Berlingo's floor. It's only a matter of time before he sees me, and he will recognise me."
"We can protect you―" Nick started, but she just cut him off with a bitter laugh.
"How? You going to sit next to me at work and help with the diary management? I can't see it. And even if you did, you're hardly bodyguard material, are you?"
"Edie…" her friend soothed, looking embarrassed. "He's trying to help us, here."
Nick appreciated the gesture, but…
"What's wrong?" Jan had finished with his call and rejoined them, standing over with his hands propped on his hips.
"I was just trying to convince Miss Covey that the key to returning to work unafraid is to give us a statement about Erneste Berlingo's attack on her."
Jan nodded. "He's right. Why are you unconvinced?"
"Because he's getting away with so much stuff! Why the hell should I believe that you're going to get him now?"
"Well, we're not, without your statement."
His bluntness seemed to shake her. Nick saw her stare at the floor wretchedly and wondered how Jan was going to break through the resistance. But then, he must have done this a thousand times before.
"Look, this is a part of your life you didn't want back. Nick and I both realise this. But here it is, and you need to deal with it ― with help, of course. The starting point is helping us to arrest him. Presumably you're concerned about him being bailed and returning to work?"
She nodded rapidly.
"I very, very much doubt that'll happen, as I'm sure Nick has explained. But as a precaution, we can talk to your bosses and put you on protective suspension as a witness. You'll still be paid but will stay away from the premises until charges are successfully brought. Does that change your mind?"
Nick watched Edie glance from him to her guy-friend, and up to Jan, who dropped his hands lightly on her shoulders. She peered way, way up at him, intrigued.
"What do you say, Edie?"
She stared for a long time, then nodded. "Alright."
A squad car arrived a few minutes later to take them back to Gresham, and Nick got in with them while Jan went into the offices to lay down the law with the personnel director. He had mixed feelings as they travelled silently back to the precinct. He was happy that they were on the verge of bringing down this guy on day two of the investigation, and happy that he had a lot to do with that. But as for witness encouragement… clearly he had a lot to learn. From now on, he knew that he could reassure witnesses that their absence from work would be covered and would start out with that, but couldn't help feeling that what really tipped the balance for Edie was that 'slightly unfair advantage' that Jan had admitted to some weeks back ― his sheer size. There was no getting away from it: Jan just looked like he was built to protect people and he got more trust for it.
He kept his sigh to himself as they pulled into Gresham. He could be as quick and smart as he liked and learn all the tricks of the trade, but it wasn't like he could learn to become a giant. He'd have to build his own niche, somehow. Suppressing his gloomy thoughts, he gave them an encouraging smile and led them up to an interview room.
X x X
So Wilson had hauled the Assistant DA over the coals ― politely, of course ― but they'd come down to stalemate: she was absolutely not prepared to let them go in on a diplomatic basis, but neither was she giving up on the possibility of an arrest warrant being granted. The compromise was that he and Nick were to wait outside the Hampton Grill and wait for news from the DA.
Even with the aircon in the Toyota turned up high, neither of them were particularly comfortable in the Kevlar under their shirts. Nick wore Jan's old jacket ― the standard issue he'd been supplied with (and which stopped short of his belly button) but which he hadn't returned to the armoury. This was not supposed to be a 'kevlar mission', but looking through the window of the Hampton Grill opposite, the arguments were escalating and the guys round the table seemed to be shifting in some insane Mexican wave pattern ― all but one, in his early thirties or so, who appeared to be waiting for the others to get their shit together. Berlingo, identifiable by having no jacket on, appeared to be getting the hard end of a heated discussion.
Jan fished his woollen bracelet out from his shirt pocket and fiddled it into a star shape between his fingers. The moment the little girl had given it to him still made him smile: it was shoved shyly on the edge of his desk before she was towed off home by her desperately relieved parents. Pleated in orange, pink and blue, it was wide enough to be a Siegbarste's belt, but it was a nice, tangible reminder of why he did the job.
"Do you always play with string while you're thinking?"
Jan shoved it back in his pocket, pinkening. "Yes."
"Ok. That's only a tiny bit strange, I guess." Nick picked absently at the threads coming out the top of his denim cuff with a hypocrisy that made Jan roll his eyes.
"Each to his own, Nick."
"I still don't know why we're not storming straight in on arrest basis, with back-up," Nick muttered. Doesn't wide-spread assault and domestic girl-trafficking trump income fraud, as crimes go?"
"In life-or-death terms, maybe," Jan agreed. "But don't say that in front of Renard's boys if you want to keep your insides inside. They've been working 14-hour days towards a big bust for months and if they get it right, they're reclaiming the city millions and millions of dollars. That's a lot of extra cops on the streets, schools saved from closure…"
Nick nodded in recognition. "So there's a bigger picture."
"There are lots of big pictures. We can see one of them. White collar can see another. The tricky part for us is explaining that to the victim of a guy we can't arrest."
"Like Abi?" Nick shot him a sideways look and sighed slightly. "I guess this is the part of the job you were trying to warn me about."
"Thank you."
"For what?"
"For getting it." Jan smiled, but didn't add to that. Thank you for being non-typical and having a better grasp on what is sensible or possible than my last rookie, was how he felt, but it didn't end well with Simon and he had no intention of scaring Nick off on day two of the job, particularly as he was definitely one of the most observant people he'd ever worked with. He jerked his head over at the scene in the window of the Hampton Grill. "What do you see?"
"Ah… Berlingo in appeasing mode. I think the oldest guy is armed, he's got a bunch box pushing out his left jacket pocket, and the youngest one is on cold stare duty. He's quiet, but he's not shy, you know? He's like a cobra biding his time."
Jan stared sideways at Nick until he'd convinced himself it was nothing more than a spectacularly scary analogy, then settled back in his seat again. They sat quietly for a few minutes while Jan's phone failed to ring with any updates. Jan thought he heard yelling from somewhere and eased his window down a little to try to get some directional focus. The sound died out almost as soon as he'd convinced himself that he'd heard it.
"Ah… Jan… what happens if the DA says that we can only go in on a person-of-interest basis?"
"Then we're not going," Jan said firmly. "We come up with some kind of plan B, and we back off."
"Why?"
"Because he saw us last night. There's no question of us taking him down to the precinct to 'help us with our enquiries'."
"So why am I wearing Kevlar under my shirt? I thought we were doing that to be discreet?"
"If you look like you're expecting trouble, you're more likely to get it. Besides, if you get hit, you can make a point of dropping at an angle that conceals the lack of blood and then ping back to life when they're not expecting it. And once you've got your breath back, of course."
"Right," Nick said uncertainly. But then appeared to buck up all of a sudden. "I've been thinking. He'd recognise you because you were last seen gravel-wrestling a Rottweiler. But my build is slightly more… anonymous than yours―"
"No, Nick."
"I don't think he ever saw my face because we were both in shadow, and I can look pretty unthreatening when I need to―"
"Noooo."
Nick shot him an example innocent expression, all wide-eyed and guileless, which wasn't reassuring in the slightest because of the 'ta da!' grin he gave immediately afterwards. "See?"
"No!"
"So maybe I tootle in, get a table for lunch, then 'rescue' Berlingo from his angry 'buddies' and bring him back to the car?"
Jan gaped. "Nick! How are my multiple NOs passing you by?"
"I thought it was a good strategy!"
"It would be if there were only two of them, Berlingo included, and neither were armed. You are not 'tootling' in there, and that is final!"
Nick looked dead ahead, but gave an annoyed little eyebrow bounce which Jan privately thought was hilarious. "Is this about me being a rookie?"
"To a large extent, yes. I'm responsible for you while you're on probation."
"Jan… I'm twenty-seven. I'm not a kid."
Jan butted his head against the back of his car seat. "And twenty-seven's a good age, but twenty-eight is even better. Look, more than anything else, it's about you being my partner. I've enjoyed being your partner, so far, and would like our little team to last more than two days!"
"Is there some kind of history you're not tell― whoa!"
Jan followed Nick's gaze back over to the restaurant where the argument had turned into a stand-up row. Talk about 'saved by the bell'. Yes, there was history ― astute kid ― and he wasn't ready to go into it right now. The numbers inside the restaurant had decreased a little: the 'quiet guy' was storming off.
"Jan ― got an idea. He's getting his car keys out, but still striding like his car's a little distance away. There's a bus coming. If I run after it, I can probably get his plates without drawing 'cop' attention."
Good plan. Jan nodded vigorously. This kind of initiative was welcome. "Go, and come straight back!"
X x X
After a half-hour of waiting, Helen was ready to take some arms and legs off. The DA wasn't answering, as he was in an important meeting. The White Collar team appeared to have declared themselves out of the office, so she tried Sean Renard. It was a huge favour to ask, but he would be in the best position to make a balanced judgement about how much would be at risk if Berlingo were publically arrested and seemed to have a smooth relationship with the DA.
She clutched her phone hard enough to make the plastic creak and exhaled with relief as Sean picked up on the fifth ring.
"Ma'am, I'm in the middle of something a little delicate here, we're nearly done―"
"Sean, thank you for picking up. I know you're up to your eyes wrapping up your bust, but this is kind of urgent. You've got Erneste Berlingo under audit, haven't you? Well, we've got him for murder, attempted murder, and at least two counts of attempted abduction, or we would do if―"
"Whoa, whoa, whoa! Give me one moment…"
At the other end of the line, she heard a door closing, shuffling down the corridor, and when Sean came back on the line, his voice was dipped, his tone incredulous. "How the hell did they pin down Berlingo so fast?"
Helen ran through the evidence, the summary of the previous night's assault, the acquisition of a testimony from Miss Covey, and tried not to spit too angrily when explaining that she'd still not had permission to move from the ADA because of the White Collar audit.
"Where are they?" Sean asked suddenly.
"The Hampton Grill ― waiting outside, but they've been expressly told not to move until they have the word to arrest."
"Great. I'd like to join them. See you there as back-up?"
She blinked, pleased but startled. "You sure? What about―"
"We've made the key arrests, pending warrants for the others. Berlingo's small fry compared to some of the guys we've been watching. Let's go get him."
Helen breathed a sigh of relief as he clicked off, pausing only to holster her Glock, update Franco, and shut up her office before racing for her Merc in the outdoor carpark. She pulled out into traffic, two squad cars in pursuit.
X x X
Having completed his irate bus-missing pedestrian display, Nick stomped past the grill on the way back to the car, checking out the scene inside through the reflection of the cars parked along the sidewalk. Still some shouting going on while the place was being set up for lunch. The decor was cheesy - exaggerated olde-worlde English country pub style, dragged into the 21st century with random bowls of glass pebbles scattered here and there. And an even more random cartwheel on the far wall, by the kitchen swing doors.
In the side window of a particularly big jeep he caught a flicker of activity in the alley - a waist-jacketed guy (waiter?) hauling a monochrome girl (waitress?) indoors by the upper arm while she struggled angrily. He snapped a brisk sideways look, but saw nothing but brick wall and a line of garbage bins. Had he seen that, or not?
Dammit, he knew what he saw. Trying to stay casual, Nick shoved his hands in his pockets and trotted across the road to Jan's Toyota, freezing at the doorway as he caught a second flurry of movement ― this time from above the restaurant. He stared at the first floor windows but could see nothing but sun. Blinking big white rectangles out of his eyes, he clambered back into the Jeep and recited the plate number to Jan, who was ready with his notebook.
"Jan, I've got a bad feeling."
"You as well? What's your feeling?"
Nick took a deep breath. "It's probably just corner-of-eye syndrome, but I'm sure I saw a girl being snatched into their kitchens. Pulled hard ― not like she'd overstayed a smoke break or something."
"Alright." Jan picked up the radio, requested back-up and called in a false imprisonment. They gave a five minute ETA on two squad cars from Gresham and Portland.
Nick listened, stunned at the instant display of trust. "Won't they tear you a new one if we're wrong?"
"Yes. But I don't care, and I don't think we're wrong. I've been hearing yelling, but couldn't pin down the source." Jan looked over seriously. "Alright, here's the plan. We're going in there to talk to 'the boss'. We saw a girl being dragged into his building and we're concerned. No more."
"Whooo... okay. So no action to be taken that's directly linked to Berlingo?"
"Technically, no, but I'm fully expecting him to run, at which point the whole polite enquiry versus full arrest distinction becomes academic anyway―"
Nick caught that window flurry again and lunged forward in his seat as he stared up, flapping sideways at Jan and pointing upwards. "First floor, third pane to the left. See?"
"Um….no….I'm afraid…"
A whisper of cloud passed over the sun, blocking the reflection and showing a girl hammering at the window with something, which then shattered outwards.
"Right, now I'm seeing." Jan leapt out the car, as did Nick, and they jogged through gaps in the traffic to the central reservation on Charleston Road while Berlingo and the two remaining heavies shared a frozen stare upwards to the restaurant ceiling and then at each other.
"Nick, take the kitchen door, see if there's a back passage going upstairs. I'll go in through the front."
Nick felt his gut tightening. Jan versus three of them? Yeah, he was big, but they were armed. And there was a lot of him not covered in Kevlar.
He shook his head vigorously. "Uh-uh. I'm coming with you. If we can handle Berlingo and co between us, the girls will still be upstairs to help when we're done."
Jan sighed down at him, but the distant sounds of squad sirens seemed to decide him. "Alright, Nick. But follow me in, let me do the talking, and keep them in front of you. Remember what the file said about their attack style? If they're part of the same group, they're rear grabbers."
"Ok." Nick fell in behind Jan, wondering whether he was being irrationally protected, or whether he was being bratty and trying over-reach himself. He couldn't decide and didn't have time to dwell on it, anyway. That tightening in his gut grew stronger as he approached the Grill in Jan's wake. He could smell something weird in the air. Something musty. His Glock was holstered at the small of his back for discretion, and he reached back to put his hand on the butt. The feel of it in his palm wasn't quite so reassuring as usual.
Berlingo had disappeared inside, presumably to check on the noise upstairs. A waitress came to the glass door of the main restaurant and pulled an apologetic face up at Jan as the other two suits yammered at her in the background. "Not open yet!"
He smiled down at her and flashed his badge. "We won't be long."
Squeezing her eyes shut against supposedly-silent abuse from behind, she seemed to make a decision and hastily unbolted the door, letting them in. Jan marched in in a fairly friendly way and pointed up to the top floor through the ceiling.
"You have a broken window up there."
"We are aware," the older guy snapped. "Thanks for pointing it out."
"You also have a number of girls screaming for help through that window, so you'll lead us upstairs so we can see what's going on, please." Polite, but uncompromising. Copying Jan's unhurried approach, Nick circled silently round quite a few of the tables and got behind them, trapping them between him and Jan.
"Come on, our boys with badges are on their way. There's no point in feigning innocence right now. Let's get the girls down to safety before it all gets bloody." Jan flashed them a brilliant grin that made them take a rapid couple of steps back, almost running themselves into Nick.
Nick kept half an eye behind him. Where was Berl―?
"NICK! BEHIND!"
He felt a crushing force wrapping around him which thankfully compressed over his upper arms rather than his ribs. He struggled, trying to pull his arms free, but he may as well have tried to get his foot out of a bear trap by pulling it through spikes. It wasn't going to happen. One of the two guys between him and Jan spun and produced his piece, pointing it right towards his face while he was still trying to break free, but was downed by Jan who lifted a foot and almost casually kicked him forward with a blow to the back of the head. He hit the corner of a table and slithered down to the ceramic tiling. That was one bad guy down. The other had taken advantage of the moment of distraction to get behind Jan and try to pin him. He wasn't doing well.
Berlingo appeared intent on pulling him backwards, so Nick figured that the only thing to do was use momentum against him. As he was bashed against a chair in reverse, he leapt up onto the cushion then threw himself backwards, landing on Berlingo and driving the wind from his lungs, and probably, the feeling from his privates. The grip around him collapsed, and Nick flipped over, grabbing the guy's flailing wrists and cuffing them around the bottom strut of a heavy dining chair. If the guy planned to flee, he'd have to take the chair with him.
He turned to see Jan spread his arms, break his assailant's grip, then spin ridiculously fast to face him, gripping his collar. He flipped the man face-down on the nearest table and cuffed him, first to himself, and then ― like Nick ― to a spectacularly inconvenient part of the nearest dining chair.
Nick flashed Jan a grin of relief that was very short lived. The waiter guy he'd seen earlier trotted out from the kitchen, clearly unaware that anything was amiss, took one look at Jan with his gun out and badge on belt, then pelted back into the kitchen, making the swing-doors scream wildly on their hinges. Jan lunged after him, and then Nick heard a yell of surprised pain followed clanging and crashing. Really, really loud, endless crashing of metal on metal, and metal on stone, that just seemed to last an eternity, as if a giant had taken a bunch of metal garbage lids and played a game to see how much noise he could make by spinning them on a metal surface until they stilled.
Nick followed Jan into the kitchen and saw him down on his knees among at least ten huge ornamental copper pans (which had been hanging from the ceiling), clutching the right side of his face, looking utterly confused and swearing in alternate Dutch and English.
"Fuck – Jan? You alright?"
Jan's eyes rolled alarmingly but he pointed to the kitchen back door with his 'spare' hand. "F'llow 'm!"
Nick took off in the direction of receding footfalls, dimly aware of one last, deafening crash behind him. No yell, though. Hopefully that was a good sign.
: : : : :
Sean ditched his coat in his car, nodded at Wilson as she leapt out of her Merc on the far side of the road, and tore off after Nick and the heavy-set Lausenschlange he was chasing. The man wasn't particularly fast but he had a very good head-start which Sean noticed with approval that Nick was rapidly demolishing. Sean closed the gap between him and them, relying on a combination of a convenient Hexenbiest failure to produce any lactic acid, and simple longer leg-length. Waist-jacketed guy dived off around the corner, Nick followed ― mere yards behind now ― and then there came a crash and a yell to 'get the fuck off'.
That was more in keeping with Kessler communication style, Sean mused, and caught up in time to see Nick's attacker pulling him backwards down the alley. Nick's face darkened as he tried to loosen the guy's grip, but he was too tall to head-butt backwards, and kept too wide a stance behind for Nick to ram his instep down his ankles. Sean dipped into the shadow of the side of the wall.
A noisy grunt reached his ears ― not Nick's ― and he got close enough to see the kid jump, get his hands round his knees and cannon-ball his entire weight down onto the Lausenschlange's left ankle. Nick had managed to push the guy backwards into the wall before dropping, so there was nowhere for him to go. The snap probably could've been heard from the street if it hadn't been for the covering scream of pain and rage. Turning abruptly, Nick crouched opposite, stretching his arms out and gripping his Glock as steadily as his vibrating hands could manage. Sean bent down and got the perp into zip-tie cuffs, enabling Nick to stand down and get his breath.
"We'll send an ambulance back for him," he said mildly, helping Nick up. Nick limped with him down Charleston road, desperately trying to ignore his badly bruised butt. "Did you get Berlingo?"
Nick nodded shakily. "In the restaurant. Out cold, but fit to stand trial."
Sean smiled to himself as they headed back to the Grill. If he hadn't seen Nick's shock reaction at his first detective arrest, he wouldn't have known he was a rookie. But between the quick thinking, speed and reflexes, it looked more than biologically likely that he was growing into his Grimm. He exhaled wistfully. At the moment, Nick was clearly self-sufficient, but he also lacked menace. Sean would quite like to see him keep things that way a little while longer.
: : : : :
Seeing Sean sprint after Nick, Helen darted through the restaurant, following the sound of hubbub in the kitchen. She pushed through the swing doors and stared for a moment. The floor was covered in dented copper pans, plaster, and a hook-lined pole hung off the ceiling at about 45°. Two of the chefs were trying to get it down safely, but their treading room was limited by the mess and cluster of waitresses surrounding the very familiar legs sprawled out over the floor. It wasn't too hard to work out what'd happened. Helen sighed inwardly and walked around to Jan's head, kneeling down, having to flash her badge at the waitresses to get them to make room.
God he was a mess: bleeding right eyebrow and lip (both being dabbed industriously), blackened right eye, and bruised collar-bone. This was easy to spot ― like the complete lack of injury on the rest of him from chest down ― because the girls appeared to have opened his shirt down to the waist. For no discernible medical reason. Muttering darkly about sexual harassment, she pulled his shirt back together again and did up a couple of buttons. He stirred, tipping his face left, and she saw the inch-thick bruise line leading from the back of his ear down to his neck. She slipped her hands round the back of his head to steady it and he flinched.
Helen caught the eye of the waitress on lip-dabbing duty. "Have you called 911?"
"Of course!" The girl had an Eastern European accent and sounded extremely affronted.
"Good. What happened?"
"Andre ran away through the kitchen and two men chased him. The smaller man is still going after Andre, but this one hit all the pans and went 'clang'."
"Jan went 'clang'?" Helen sighed a little as he groaned distantly, screwing his face up. "And this knocked him out?"
"Oh no, this only makes him confused, cross and woozy. No, he was getting up from his knees and ready to chase when the skillet falls, like this― HI-YAH!" the girl demonstrated a vicious karate chop across the back of the neck and shoulders, "and then he drops into long, flat jelly."
Helen saw the skillet ― which must weigh the best part of 20lb ― looked at where it'd hit him and it made no sense that he was on his back. It would've driven him back onto his knees and then pitched him forward. "Did you move him?"
The silence as the waitresses exchanged mutually guilty stares was confirmation enough. Seething internally, she gently strengthened her grip round the back of his head, causing unhappy mumbling. One of the first-aid hopeless causes finally made herself useful by passing a pack of frozen pole beans wrapped in a teatowel, which Helen pressed against his neck. He did not find this soothing.
"GNNNNNNNNN!"
"Jan… can you hear me?"
"Mmmh."
"Can you wiggle your feet?" He did, after a long, sulky, groggy pause. He could move everything else on command, too, except his right arm. Which was understandable, given the shock his nerve had probably taken. "Can't move the fingers in that hand?"
"nn-nn."
She found his dogged attempt to sleep through her medical interrogations quite endearing. "Jan, could we graduate to syllables, do you think?"
He frowned and thought and struggled with this for a moment, then finally rumbled, "Yes…ma'am." He tugged his lids open for a couple of seconds to reveal crossed, bottle-green eyes. Bless him. They dropped shut immediately. He spent several minutes fidgeting in his sleep. Eventually she realised that he was trying to puff air up his face to get his hair out of his eyes. She raked it back for him.
"All tidy now," she murmured, suppressing a smile as this settled him immediately. You big girl. She shook his shoulder every minute or so to stop him from drifting off until the bus finally turned up. It took ten of them, including a rather tired Nick ― who'd just stumbled back into the kitchen ― to get Jan off the floor and onto the gurney.
X x X
Nick jogged up to neurology and earned himself a warm beam at the nurse's desk from Hayley when he asked for Jan's room. He passed the time of day with her, which she responded to cheerfully, but when he explained that the big sports bag contained clothes for Jan, the sun disappeared from her face and a wintry expression blew in. God only knew what that was about. He made his escape from Jekyll-and-Hyde Hayley and headed down the corridor, drawing level with Jan's room. He was still bare to the waist, as with yesterday's brief visit, but his various wires had been removed, which was great. And he was propped up with a ridiculous number of pillows. Nick felt it would be easier to raise the head-rest, but hey.
Jan was asleep, but had a visitor, so Nick hung back. The girl, in white shirt and loose-cut black jeans, had long blonde-brown hair pulled back in a neat ponytail, sat on the edge of the bed with her hand on Jan's far side. A girlfriend he hadn't heard about yet, maybe? He'd clearly come right at the end of her visit because she bent over and brushed a kiss across Jan's cheek before rising to her feet and creeping out.
Nick started in recognition as she passed him: Big Phoebe, looking tidy, dressed casual. She stopped and looked back in similar recognition, her face as hard as ever. He attempted a friendly smile, felt it going precisely nowhere, and was about to turn into Jan's room, when he felt the bruising grip of hands round his head and a slam-kiss on his cheekbone.
"Thank you, too," she barked, then strode off the corridor as if trying to out-walk this embarrassing display of not-quite-affection.
Nick stumbled in slightly, rubbing his cheek and feeling like he'd been attacked by an impulsive, one-shot wood-pecker. Aunt Marie used to kiss like that, until he got quick enough to duck.
"Hey, Nick," Jan murmured. "I see you got the Phoebe seal of approval?"
"It wasn't as gentle as your seal," Nick said. "I thought you were asleep?"
"It was slightly awkward. She thought I was asleep, made herself comfortable on the bed, then started unloading, because she thought I couldn't hear her. It got to… um… a point of self-disclosure where the only chivalrous thing to do was remain 'asleep'."
Nick grinned. "Useful unloading?"
"In parts. It turns out that Andre, the 'waiter' you leapt on yesterday, worked with the Phoebes' pimp, and they're hardly anguished to see the back of him. Or Berlingo."
"And the rest of it?"
Jan blushed. "Best kept to myself, I think." He drew the sheet up the bed self-consciously. "Speaking of which, I'm feeling a little exposed. I don't suppose you had the chance to―"
"―Spare clothes!" Nick pronounced and dumped the bag on the side of the bed, while fishing the world's tiniest pot of Nivea for Men from his pocket and clicking it down on the bedside table. Jan's eyes lit up comically, even as he struggled to unscrew the pot left-handedly.
"Nick, you're a hero among men."
"I found the biggest garment I possess, but I'll get some of your stuff if you give me your apartment keys." Nick got the bed's backrest up so he could sit properly and helped him into the navy blue long-sleeved teeshirt. He'd bought it a couple of years ago to wear over the top of other clothes if he ever got any painting done, but still remained very much a sketch-pad guy. The top was very fitted on Jan, but he looked relieved to have it on.
"I can't account for my apartment keys. My clothes seem to have been confiscated. I've tried appealing to Hayley, but it looks like I'm not getting them back until I'm actually discharged."
"I think Hayley might be the wrong person to ask to get you re-dressed," Nick observed blandly. "But seriously, you ok? When are they letting you go?"
"Tonight, hopefully. I'm starting to get pins and needles in my right fingers again, so sensation's returning. It looks like I'd just bruised the nerve."
"Just bruised a lot of things," he muttered. "You scared the crap out of me." Nick dropped into the seat next to the bed with a sigh. He'd thought Jan had just made dizzying contact with the ornamental pans. Returning to the kitchen to find his partner out cold and looking like he'd been worked over from the shoulders up... not nice, even if he was being very well looked after by lots and lots, and lots of people. He'd felt like a shit, going after the job rather than sticking with his partner.
"I'm sorry, Nick. I wasn't much use back there," Jan apologised, bizarrely. "Wilson said that you did great."
This was a surprise. "Really? Because I got the verbal equivalent version of the frustrated-matriarch shoulder-shake. Until I explained what we saw above the restaurant, and then she chilled a little."
"At least she only does the verbal shoulder-shake now. She tried rattling sense into me once and cricked her neck, so she's stuck to tongue-lashing since then." Jan grimaced. "I think I preferred the shaking."
"She doesn't hold back does she?" Nick mused. "I guess size isn't everything."
"I never said it was. I said it gave me some unfair advantages. But as you can see...it can also be an arse. Other things are more important."
"Like experience." Nick now saw Jan's conversation with Edie Covey in a slightly more generous light.
"It helps. But what I'd give to have your eye-sight..."
"Or your hearing," Nick chuckled. "I was going to ask if you were secretly a bat."
"Secretly a CAT?"
"No! Bat! like sonar hearing? Cats are cooler, but hey..." Nick chuckled. "Wait, how come you don't hear me right from a yard away but you can hear a chocolate wrapper crinkle from half a mile in a high wind?"
Jan relaxed back in bed a little. "I'm not that extreme. But... seriously, you did great, Nick. Been to see Abi Chester, yet? Give her the good news?"
"You ok with me doing that?"
"I think you've earned the right. Go on, go do the nicer part of this job. We'll debrief tomorrow."
"Thanks." Nick grinned, floating on big-brother approval and skipped down to his car.
It took him just a few minutes to get to Abi's. He rung her apartment bell and she buzzed him in with a warning that it would take her about five minutes to get to her inner door. He was upstairs before she got across her room, poor girl, but gazed down with interest at the little note on top of a stack of local papers left outside.
"Hey honey, Brianne will bring the next batch tomorrow. Call me if you need anything else. J xxx"
It was nice that she had people looking after her. He'd need to keep in touch a little while longer anyway, to help her while the courts technology team set up her video-link testimony. Her back injury was pretty bad and there was no way she'd be able to sit up all the way through proceedings. Eventually she got to the door and seemed to see in his face that it was good news before he even opened his mouth.
She gave him a watery smile. "You got him? Really?"
"Your friend doesn't need to bring any more papers. We got him yesterday morning."
"This is for you and your partner." She stepped in slowly for a hug. He wasn't quite sure what the hug-the-witness department policy was, but was happy to enjoy it until the finer procedural points were clarified for him. Abi's peck on the cheek was softer and longer-lasting than Big Phoebe's.
"I'll ah... pass that onto Jan verbally," he said with a grin.
Abi chuckled. "You do that. Seriously, thank him for me, too. He's sweet and all, but... you're always going to be the one that 'threw the trash out' for me."