A/N: Madison Bellows, thank you! You were really helpful.

Chapter 13: The Unhelp Line

The suicide helpline had one floor at its disposal. Inside, the atmosphere wasn't exactly what the two detectives were expecting, it all seemed too distant and aseptic. Sophia McFarland was waiting for them on the threshold of her office. Once they were inside she sat down dramatically on her chair, channeling her inner diva. Then, she looked at the two men, "so tell me, why are you here?"

Flack cleared his voice, "we'd like to know how the organization works."

The woman raised her eyebrows before replying. "I plan the schedules, manage donations and deal with the red tape. We also have volunteers."

"Volunteers?" Danny sounded disappointed.

"Yes, they're unpaid, not official employees. They're just people who devote their time helping others."

"Do you have a list, maybe?"

McFarland pursed her lips, "well, I have a list, but I'd like to protect their privacy. It's a trust issue. But I have no problems confirming that no one has broken the law and that is enough for me."

"They don't need any special qualifications?" Flack was incredulous.

The woman laughed, stopping immediately at Flack's grim expression. "Detective, if I looked only for people with a psychology degree I'd have nobody answering the phones."

"How do you train the volunteers to give the correct answer? If someone really desperate calls, how do they know what to do?"

"Our primary support is listening. Lots of people call us only to vent. If one of the volunteers feels that someone needs more help he'll give him one of our associated psychologists' number." There was something in the way she rattled off this information that made it seem like she was reciting from a script.

"That's very interesting, and let me guess, the psychologists you just mentioned are also your top donors?"

Sophia tilted her head, "I'm starting to dislike this conversation."

Danny smirked, his head shaking, and got ready for one of Flack's sarcastic comments.

"I don't think you're in the position to set the rules. We have asked you your volunteers' names, nicely, and you refused. Plus, we've just discovered you don't need a degree to work here. The only real support is from your well-paid psychologists. You're managing this place like it's a call center, but you're not selling products, you're dealing with people who are ready to give up their life!"

Danny furrowed his brow, slightly confused. He hadn't expected such an outburst from his friend. He intervened, "what my partner is trying to say is that we have two unsolved murders and the only link between them is this number. And it's frustrating not finding help in a helpline." He concluded with a charming smile.

The woman stood, "fine, but I don't see the need for him to be on his high horse!" She gestured at Flack before turning back to Danny, "please, be discreet."

Flack still didn't back down. "Do you realize you're talking to police officers? We're not here to play spies. Give us their names, phone numbers and addresses. Something else we need to know?"

"Like what?"

"I don't know. What if I call you? I guess there's a switchboard to route the calls." Flack was starting to get really annoyed.

"Yes, and then the first free operator picks up."

"What if I had already called other times and I'd like to speak with a particular operator because I feel closer to them?"

"That's not possible. We don't pass the calls from one operator to another. Some of our volunteers would be swamped with requests."

"While other ones would have nothing to do. But that's okay, you're only dealing with human feelings." Flack's tone was full of sarcasm.

"Look, I'm offering a serv-, um, help and you're here to extort me!"

"Extort, what do you think detective Messer?"

"Mafia lingo, Detective Flack. But let's ignore it. So, I call, I speak with the first free volunteer. I talk, explaining why I'm feeling down and the only help is either complete silence or a doctor's name. Could we at least have these psychologists' names?"

"And hope they belong to a professional register?"

The woman stood, clearly offended as she retrieved a folder with the names. She copied the list and handed it to the detectives.

"One more thing. If I'd like to talk with the same person even if it's impossible, because, you know, I'm stubborn, what could I do?"

"Well, if you left your phone number..."

"Would you call me back?"

"No, of course not!" The two men exchanged a glance as she continued. "but, privately..."

"Wow! Dates for singles, too!" Flack exclaimed.

"You're too funny for your own good!" Sophia admonished.

"Ouch... what a woman!"

"She really hurt me, I don't think I'll ever be okay. Just to clarify things for you, what your doing is most likely legal, but you're managing it horribly. There's no training, no passion. You don't feel the need to use experts – please, don't mention your damn psychologists – and your rules can be easily bypassed. It just looks alike a big confused mess."

"Some of our volunteers went through the same experiences of the people who call."

"And that can make things worse. If you're full of anger, hurt and spite how can you help someone who is in your same condition?"

Danny breathed deeply, absorbing Flack's words. Then, he asked Sophia, "do you record the calls?"

She seemed shocked, "no! We don't want to violate their privacy!"

"Whose privacy? The people calling or volunteers?" Flack stood, shaking his head, "I don't like this at all. And I feel you're hiding something."

Sophia stood as well, her body rigid, "that is all. I've already wasted too much time. You just have this tiny connection and you want it to mean something. I'll have someone show you out."

Danny grimaced. "We don't need an escort, we know the way," he curtly replied as they left.