Chapter 37

We sat on a wooden bench in the precinct lobby. I was tired of sitting. Large murals of boats on a river hung on the walls of the tan hallway. Maybe it was the Willamette River? I tried to focus on one of the boats as I gripped my knee that was crossed over my leg. Monroe kept his hand on my back, stroking softly with his palm.

"How long must we wait?" I murmured.

"It's only been fifteen minutes," Monroe replied while glancing at his wide cuff, leather watch. "It'll be over soon enough."

Nick poked his head around the wall as he caught my eye. "Renée, you wanna follow me?"

I nodded and stood while smoothing down my dress, giving Monroe a longing look before moving forward. It would be better if he could go with me.

"We're going to get your statement. It's a few basic questions, so it shouldn't take long," Nick explained as I followed him through the department.

My heels click-clacked against the light and dark green tiled floor. The precinct was very green, except for the baby blue walls which reminded me of Monroe's kitchen. Multiple desks were situated out in the open with the familiar office sounds of phones and computers buzzing and humming. Aside from the color scheme, it reminded me of the station back home.

We passed by Lydia Swift, who was arguing with one of the officers about the robbery. She was less dazzling than how I was used to seeing her. Instead of a gown, she was wearing a simple taupe dress suit and pearls. I really hated pearls, but on her they worked.

"It's on loan from the Galleria Palatina in Italy!" Madame Dazzles yelled at the officer who was taking notes. "What the hell am I supposed to tell them? You need the entire force out there finding my damn painting!" she roared, catching everyone's attention, including mine and Nick's. She definitely wasn't sophisticated when she was angry.

"That's Lydia Swift, the new curator of the Portland Art Museum," I said to Nick as we moved past.

"How do you know that?"

"I've talked to her a couple of times at art galas," I replied as we turned another corner.

He held back a chuckle. "Well, this isn't a great start for her, is it?"

I nodded. I almost felt bad for Madame Dazzles. This was going to leave a blemish on her local notoriety, as self-proclaimed as that was. Still, it would be difficult for her to get another great art collection to Portland after something like this, if they even kept her around as curator at all.

Nick motioned me into a room at the end of the corridor. I'd seen interrogation rooms like this one on CSI Miami. It was even greener than the rest of the precinct. The Portland PD must have used the former decorator for Kermit the Frog. The focal point in the center of the room was a green, metal desk and a few green chairs on either side. The walls were divided with deep wood slatted paneling on the bottom and more green painted on the top. I caught my pale reflection in the large two-way mirror on the far wall. At least that's how they were on those drama cop shows. Just standing in the room made me feel guilty, and I hadn't even done anything.

"The captain is gonna sit in with us, okay?" Nick asked, like I could refuse.

"Sure, of course." I nodded to be polite. The police captain was taking the time to interrogate me? Wow… This whole thing had my stomach doing somersaults.

Nick pointed to a chair to the left of the table. "Go ahead and have a seat. I'm sure he'll be here in a minute."

I scooted out the chair and tried to get comfortable. This spot put me in view of the two-way mirror. Smile, you're on candid camera. I'd spent plenty of time in police stations, but never in one of these rooms. Back home I'd dodged and avoided getting thrown into one, but here I was, a couple months in Portland, and David Caruso was about to come in any moment to grill me. A cool glass of water would be good right about now. I'd swallowed hard so many times my tongue was sticking to the roof of my mouth like peanut butter. With a slow breath, I let the practiced calm wash over me. It was fighting to take hold, but it eventually gave in.

Nick sat across from me, laying down a notepad that he'd been carrying with him. A low hanging fluorescent bulb hung above us, casting its cold, harsh light down on our heads. Glancing up was unbearable. It added to the dismal ambiance this place already had going for it. The room was claustrophobic. I swear it was smaller than it had been when we first entered. Hopefully this would be over and done with soon so I could leave.

My hands rested on the table which had a silver metal bar screwed into its top. Those must be for handcuffs. Yeah, I'd seen way too many cop shows.

"So, why have you been avoiding my calls?" asked Nick, startling me.

"I've been busy, Nick."

"You aren't mad that I wouldn't talk to you about the case, are you?"

"What, the case that I'm now a part of?" I held back rolling my eyes, but the sarcasm came out anyway. "No, not in the least."

"There are going to be things I can't discuss. You have to understand that."

"I understand. And you need to understand I can't stay out until the wee hours of the morning every night."

"Look, I'm not expecting that." Nick crossed his arms. "But I am interested in converting the rest of those books to the database."

"You're smart. I'm sure you can manage."

The door to our right opened, halting our discussion. A rather tall, broad-shouldered man walked into the room. I recognized the captain from the news, but to see him in person was an eye-opener. No doubt he was striking, with a nose like a Roman soldier and a chiseled jaw line that most actors in Hollywood would pay big money to their plastic surgeons for. He was dressed in a sharp gray suit with an emerald square print tie that complemented the green in his hazel eyes. Not that he needed any help with all the green everywhere else. The captain's short, dark hair looked perfect against his olive complexion… his extremely flawless complexion. He flashed me a closed-lipped, debonair smile that reminded me of a young Cary Grant and he closed the door behind him.

Nick stood. "Captain, this is Renée Davenport," he told Captain Debonair, who nodded. "She's the main witness we have to the robbery and murder that occurred at the Portland Art Museum earlier today."

"Miss Davenport, I'm Captain Renard." He lifted a manicured hand like he was going to take mine, but then stuck it in his pocket instead. "I realize you've had a trying day, so we'll make this brief."

I sucked in a breath and attempted to keep my nerves to a minimum as Captain Debonair sat down across from me and beside Nick, who had settled back down in his seat.

"We have a few standard questions," said Nick, "so just answer as best you can."

Sitting up straight in my chair, I awaited the questions. I was used to Nick's interrogations, but this time I needed to be more serious and less sarcastic with my answers.

"Miss Davenport, what part of the museum were you in when the robbery occurred today?" Nick began, clicking his pen and poising it over his notepad in front of him, awaiting my response.

I wet my lips before I spoke. "I was in the gallery room on the second floor where they were displaying La Bella."

Nick jotted something down. "How close were you to the event that took place?"

"The event?" I asked just to clarify. "You mean the theft and murder?"

Nick gave me an 'of course that's what I mean' look and didn't respond.

"Four feet, uh, or perhaps six when it began," I stammered. "I backed up quickly when the thief jumped over the ropes." A flying leap was more like it, but I stuck with the word 'jumped.'

"Did you see anything out of the ordinary before it happened?"

"No, I was just admiring the artwork. A woman let out a shriek when the thief entered and that's when I first saw them. The woman and the man she was with both raced out of the room, leaving me alone with the thief. Well, except for the guard, who came in once the painting was taken off the wall." The arrow going through the guard's chest was still etched in my mind.

"Did you see the thief's face?"

"It was covered except for her blue eyes."

"Her?" Nick was writing frantically now.

"Yeah, it was definitely a woman," I replied matter-of-factly.

"Why do you think it was a woman?" Nick asked and stopped writing to tap his pen against his notepad.

"Well..." I paused. "She was wearing a bra." I flushed slightly at having to describe this to two men. "The black outfit she wore fit tightly, and the bra's outline was apparent."

Nick nodded with a straight face, however, and scribbled down something quickly. The captain's face remained handsome and unmoving. "Any identifiable marks on the thief?" Nick continued, not missing a beat.

"She was pretty well covered all in black, but she was wearing Chanel No. 5," I replied, not thinking.

Nick's eyes widened, and he gave me a pained stare, clenching his pen until his knuckles turned white.

"Were you that close to be sure?" Captain Debonair asked. His voice startled me, and my eyes darted in his direction. He tilted his head as a thin smirk appeared on his face, awaiting my reply.

"I just remember smelling it as it happened." I fidgeted in my seat, but quickly regained my composure. "I'm sorry, but this has all been a little much today." I cast my eyes down. "Anyone could've been wearing it, I suppose."

Captain Debonair laced his fingers in front of him as he leaned forward. One hand bore a gold band. Married perhaps? There was a silver ring on the other. Was that a signet ring? I tried to make out the symbol, but his hand moved off the table. I glanced back up and was met with a suspicious look. Good job at being subtle, Renée. He probably thought I was an oddball for staring at his hands like that. I quickly focused my attention back to Nick and away from Captain Debonair's hazel green eyes.

"Did the thief say anything to you?" Nick continued with the questioning.

"No, she just pointed a crossbow at me before the alarm went off." I let out a breath, replaying that part in my mind. Did the alarm stop her or did something else stop her? I still wasn't sure.

"Anything you can tell us about the crossbow?"

"It was predominately wood. The handle was curved. Definitely old. Medieval perhaps?" Nick was glaring again. "But I'm not an expert to know for sure," I quickly added. "It was etched on the sides, but they weren't symbols, just decorative gold inlay would be my guess. It was easy to hold and shoot in one hand just like a gun."

"Sounds like you got a good look at the weapon," said Nick with a hint of 'shut the hell up.'

"I have a good memory. I didn't see it for very long, thank goodness, but I did pay attention to the details. It's a habit of mine. She was a skilled marksman and used that weapon like it was second nature. She aimed, shot, and reloaded without any forethought." I paused to take a breath. "But I'm sure you know all this. I watched the news reports and the surveillance camera footage. You saw what she could do with it." God, I was rambling. I needed this to be over.

Nick was berating me with his eyes, which were getting stormier by the minute. "We have two dead victims because of her, Miss Davenport," he replied, trying to keep the strain out of his voice. "We're aware of how easily she killed them."

I turned my attention to Captain Debonair. "I realize you were victimized by her, too. This affects you personally, and I'm sorry."

The captain seemed taken aback by my candor. "Yes, this case isn't random. When someone specifically steals from elected officials then it's a serious matter. I appreciate your kind words, Miss Davenport."

Nick cleared his throat to regain my attention. "Did you notice any other details?" His agitated expression was a clear warning not to go off topic again.

Taking in a small breath, I replied, "She was left-handed."

"Any other details we might not already know?" Nick didn't hold back the strain in his voice this time.

I hesitated as I twisted my fingers with my hands. "That's all I remember."

"You said the other couple that was in the room ran out. Why didn't you, Miss Davenport?" Captain Debonair inquired. As I turned to face him, there was a slight smile resting on his lips, and I caught hold of his eyes, gazing at me with curiosity.

"It was like a train wreck; I just stood, frozen, watching her," I replied, which was partially true. I was fighting my reckless woge pretty hard not to get involved, but after the Daemonfeuer I was a little gun-shy, so I hesitated. The crossbow didn't help, either.

"Well, I'm glad you weren't harmed in any way." Captain Debonair rose from his seat, his eyes still locked on me as he moved toward the door. "If you remember anything else, please call us." Goodness, he really was handsome. If Natalie had seen him she would've drooled so much she might have drowned.

No doubt I had a silly grin on my face as I replied, "Yes, I definitely will."

"Nice meeting you, Miss Davenport." He slid his hands into his pockets and smiled once more in my direction. "Thank you for your time." His smile wasn't genuine, but yet it wasn't faked either. Honestly, I wasn't sure what to make of him.

"I'm just going to finish up with her, captain," Nick said, and he responded with a quick nod.

Nick and I remained in the room as Captain Debonair closed the door behind him. I shook off my grin once my eyes met Nick's. His usual blue eyes had turned full-on gray as they glared back at me.

"What the hell was all that about perfume?" Nick hissed across the table as his teeth clenched on the words.

"I don't know why I said that. Monroe said he smelled Chanel No. 5 mixed with Waschbar when he checked it out. I was nervous. I didn't think before it had left my mouth."

"Well, unless we're trying to figure out where she shops, it was unnecessary," he said, disapprovingly.

"I'm sorry, all right? I was a little traumatized today after someone tried to reenact William Tell at my head."

"Look, I'm sorry, Renée," Nick softened his tone. "It's just that I try to keep things sounding normal in here. I've got a partner and a captain that would be a bit skeptical if they found out their art thief is a raccoon that wears designer perfume."

"Now for the record I said nothing about Wesen while he was in here," I reminded him.

He scoffed back, "Surprisingly you didn't."

"Okay, let's pretend that I've been seeing this all my life. Oh, wait, that's not pretend. I have been seeing this all my life." I scowled at him and scooted my chair back. "Perhaps we shouldn't be having this conversation here."

"Yeah, I need to get your statement typed out anyway. Come over to the trailer tonight and we'll talk more. Can you find your way back to the lobby from here?"

"I think I'm capable of that," I said flatly as I got up to leave. Did he think I'd mess that up, too?

"Renée?" Nick said before I opened the door. I turned to face him. "I'm really glad you're okay. I mean that."

"So am I." I turned toward the door and left.

I walked back slowly, people watching. A few officers corralled around a box of doughnuts while two others discussed the upcoming Blazers game as they escorted a cuffed man toward one of the desks. Just another day at the office, it seemed.

I glanced up at a row of pictures on the wall. One in particular caught my eye. The gold plate read, 'Mayor Adams commends Portland's captain for the arrest of The Stumptown Strangler – March 2011.' The mayor was shaking hands with an older-looking Captain Debonair. Fine wrinkles rounded his eyes, and the touch of gray at his temples seemed almost out of place. Surely the guy I'd just met wasn't old enough to have gray growing anywhere. Perhaps he'd went on some crazy Portland juice cleanse in the last year. Whatever he was doing, it worked well.

I approached Madame Dazzles, who had stopped yelling, and the officer had her busy filling out some paperwork. She noticed me as I walked by and gave me a faux smile which she really had to force. I nodded at her and tried to smile back. Detective Swagger gave me a wave as I went past his desk. I flashed him a smile, too.

As I continued toward the lobby, I passed by the captain's office. Captain Debonair was on his cell phone, pacing by his desk. The door was ajar, and I had to fight with myself to keep facing forward. Was he speaking French? I caught the words, 'Il a été volé. La peinture, aussi,' which translated to, 'It was stolen. The painting, too.' I continued walking. It was best not to hover and eavesdrop.

"Well, umm, how did it go?" Monroe asked, standing up quickly as I turned the corner.

"Fine, except for giving too much info," I said in a huff while we both walked down the hallway.

"Too much info?" Monroe asked, sounding confused as we went down the stairs of the precinct building. "How do you give too much info?"

I waited to reply until we were outside. "I got nervous and mentioned the Chanel No. 5." I shook my head as I kept walking. "Apparently Nick thought that was a little over the top."

"Yeah, Hun. Umm, you probably shouldn't have mentioned that," he said, putting a hand on my shoulder. "That's more for the Grimm work, not the police."

"The captain was pretty amused by my perception to detail," I replied with a shrug. "Nick looked like he was going to throttle me from across the table."

"Eh, Nick will get over it. He's just very concerned about his work and his Grimm work, you know, merging together."

"It seems like it's constantly merging," I replied bleakly. Merging or just overlapping. Either way it was becoming apparent that the Wesen world and the real world were going to be a constant part of Nick Burkhardt's life as a cop. Seemingly, they were becoming part of mine, too… and not in the way I was used to.

"Let's just head back to my place." He gave me a smile. "I have some things that'll take your mind off all this." I was sure he did.

I reached for the door handle on Monroe's VW. "I really don't like police stations."

He sighed heavily. "Not my favorite place either, lemme tell ya."

(*)(*)(*)(*)(*)

My mind went to those blue eyes of the Waschbar on the way back to Monroe's house. Did she know me or had I reacted to the woge? I wasn't sure either way. I closed my eyes and leaned back into the car seat. Michael Jackson's 'Smooth Criminal' came to mind as I hummed softly. I kept picturing that crossbow and how close I came to being another dead body on the floor. Perhaps Chloe was right and my luck would eventually run out.

"You doing okay over there?" Monroe asked.

I kept my eyes closed. "I haven't decided yet."

"We'll figure out who's behind this," Monroe assured me. "I mean, Nick will. He's good at these things. Well, with my help he's good at these things." Monroe laughed. I wasn't in a laughing mood.

A Waschbar. I'd seen a Waschbar recently, but where? I searched my mental filing cabinets, riffling through Wesen drawers. At work? No. At the grocery? No. At the… art gala! Madame Dazzles' bookend!

My eyes opened. "There was a Waschbar at the art gala last week. Maybe it was her."

"Now don't go blaming the first Waschbar you remember seeing."

"But those blue eyes. She had blue eyes."

"Maybe your friend Natalie could help you."

"Natalie? How?"

"Well, that's what she is. I mean, assuming I didn't actually smell a raccoon outside that night at your house."

"A Waschbar?"

"Yeah. I mean, I'm usually right about these things. Even in the rain the nose knows."

So, I knew two Waschbars. Well, crap.

A/N: Fans can rejoice. Captain Renard has made his way into the story! (:

Renée got a bit nervous her first time in the precinct, huh?

What? Natalie a Waschbar? Roh-oh!