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Saturday, August 16, 2015

So far, Fin hadn't been able to tell Olivia much about Dev Patel...they now knew where he was working, but had no idea what the hell he was up to. When Olivia finally got a chance to call Alex on Saturday morning, she decided there was no point in mentioning it if all she had was a vague sense of unease. Alex had enough going on without being made to feel paranoid as well.

She was in her office working when Liv rang from San Francisco.

"Hey, you," Alex smiled as she answered. "How's it going?"

"I'm beat, honey," Olivia said.

"I'd say so. It's only six o'clock there on a Saturday morning and you sound like you've already had 3 cups of coffee and put in a full day."

"Not quite," Olivia laughed. "Just two cups, but yeah, it feels like a full day already. Not that you have much room to talk, since I know you're in your office and probably have been for hours."

"I plead the Fifth," Alex said. "How many hours have you slept since you left here Thursday?"

"Oh, at least eight," Olivia said. Her four hours in the hotel had been far more restful than the four in the crib the night before, but she and Kris had stayed up talking way too late, and the drinks hadn't seemed like much at the time, but they'd served up an ugly reminder in the form of a brutal headache that woke her just before five. "The good news is, I'm coming home tonight, probably late though."

"What's the bad news?"

"It's him," she said.

"Shit. I'm sorry, baby. I had kept my fingers crossed that this would be a false alarm when you said there was no utility belt."

"Me too, but apparently that's not integral to our boy's sense of fun."

"He's changing things up, Liv. You always tell me that's not good."

"It's not," Olivia agreed. "All I can do now is gather as much information as possible and get my ass home to see if we can use it to make any headway."

"I'm on board with the get my ass home part. I don't like it when you're there and not here." It was a surprising admission, Liv thought. Alex was so stressed that it didn't seem like she cared or even noticed where her wife was.

"You've got it, Cabot. I'll be there to wake up with you tomorrow."

Saturday, August 16, 2014

11:15 a.m.

One last meeting with the SFPD had left Liv feeling as confused as ever about the cases. New York, St. Louis, and now San Francisco-they had to be related, but why couldn't they figure this out? Each time they had another victim, and another jurisdiction, and still couldn't seem to come up with a single meaningful piece of evidence, she began to doubt herself. She wasn't sure they could ever catch this guy at the rate they were going. The meeting had been livened up when Chael Bauer stopped by the precinct to give them a progress report on the work his team was doing. He couldn't sit in on any briefings-they were all hoarding information, not sure which piece of seemingly meaningless detail would be the break the needed in the case-but he'd been in touch with the Richmond station house captain and knew the detectives from New York and St. Louis were in town and asked if he could update them.

It was brief-his guys were working with far less detail than the detectives were, and Olivia thought the only reason he was even allowed to pretend he was helping was his connections in St. Louis. Of course, he was a big name in the Bay Area, too, and everyone agreed it couldn't hurt to have some tech guys crunching peripheral data and modeling patterns based on solved cases to see if they could arrive at some new methodology that would help. If not this case, maybe it would offer some help down the road.

When the meeting broke up, the captain offered to call a cab to the airport for Liv and Kris. Chael overheard and waved him off. "I'm heading that way and I've got a car. The least I can do is deliver these two intrepid travelers so they can head back home."

They let Kris out at Terminal 2, to catch her American flight back to St. Louis. As the driver pulled away, ferrying them toward Terminal 1, Bauer surprised her by saying "I think we're on the same flight, Sergeant Benson. I hope I don't drive you crazy before we get back to JFK."

"Gulfstream in the shop?" she asked with a smile.

"No, my trip to New York is personal, and I'm a bit of a stickler about using the company jet for that."

"Even though you own the company?" The quirks of the uber-rich never ceased to amuse her.

"Well, we're planning an IPO and…" he began.

"I might have heard something about that." It had been on the news so often that she couldn't have missed it, actually.

"Of course," he said with a chuckle. "I try not to assume that people with real concerns pay any attention to stuff like that. You're saving lives and helping victims. My little fiefdom pales in comparison."

Their initial meeting had been brief. She'd barely talked to Bauer, and certainly hadn't seen this side of him; his humility was refreshing.

"You don't need the SEC breathing down your neck," she said. "I understand hairsplitting and arcane regulations. I'm a cop."

"I know you do," he allowed. "My dad always hated losing a perp on a technicality. I have to admit, I'm not upset about flying back to New York with you. My software guys have raved about the amazing Sergeant Benson."

"That's very kind of you to say," Olivia replied. "I'm just doing my job."

"And doing it with impressive skill and dedication, I'm told. They're eager to pick your brains again."

"My programming skills are nonexistent," she laughed. "I don't know how I could be of any help"

"You'd be surprised. Apprehending violent criminals isn't my bailiwick, either in cyberspace or in the real world, but what we try to do with any program is to make it as user-friendly as possible. Ideally, we'd like to create something will 'think' the same way humans do, but with an amazing capacity to store and compare details, look for patterns, connect the dots. Knowing how you approach your job provides us with insights we can't get anywhere else, though. I can't promise it will turn into anything that will help you, but the better input we have, the more likely we are to deliver a tool that may eventually make your job easier."

"And will it make you a lot of money?" she asked. Sussing out a motive wasn't a skill she could just turn off.

"You're very direct," he smiled.

"Some would say impolitic. I have trouble talking around things."

"I'm glad you asked. The answer is no, actually. Whatever comes out of this project, if it's remotely useful, will be something we provide to law enforcement free of charge. It's the least we can do. Now, I'm no Mother Teresa. Money isn't the only form of currency for a publicly traded business."

"Social responsibility," Liv said knowingly.

"Exactly. That would usually take the form of fair labor practices and carbon footprints, but a little good publicity never hurt anyone either."

"And are you getting good publicity from this? I know it's been mentioned in the news."

"It has been, but my folks haven't put out any press releases or anything. We'd prefer to talk about it once there's an it to talk about, you know?"

"I deal with the media. I understand."

"I do want something to come of this, Sergeant Benson. That's why I was hoping to spend a bit of time with you today. The last time we met, you were understandably preoccupied."

Olivia recalled it vividly-she had been in St. Louis when Alex had been injured in a courthouse shooting in Manhattan. Jack Hammond had been killed in the incident. Bauer had been in St. Louis to offer his team's services and he'd been generous enough to fly her home on his company jet, getting her home hours earlier than a commercial flight would have. She remembered that he'd been exceedingly kind, but it hadn't been a good time for conversation.

"I wasn't in the mood for small talk on that trip," she conceded.

"Nor was I," he said. "I know I'm only a stranger, but your fear and worry were palpable. I was very concerned for you and for Ms. Cabot."

"This is our stop," he said, as the limo pulled up at Terminal One. "I'm hoping we can remedy that on our flight today."

They got out of the car, taking their bags from the driver. Olivia nodded her head almost imperceptibly at his Tanner Krolle carry-on; she didn't live in a fifth-floor walkup, but $2,500 overnight bags were still a bit rich for her blood. "I'm fairly sure we won't be sitting together," she laughed. "The NYPD isn't known for its luxury travel arrangements."

"I thought as much," he said as they walked into the terminal. "That's why I checked for an available first-class seat. Say the word and I'll upgrade you. I've got points coming out my ears." He smiled, waiting.

She could upgrade herself, but didn't usually splurge like that, a fact he'd probably surmised. "I can't ask you to do that."

"You're not asking," Bauer said. "I'm offering. I'm the son of a cop, Sergeant. I find your job fascinating and I'd love to talk to you about it. Maybe a little insight into what it's like for you and your colleagues these days would help me to help you. Software isn't just good for sharing the inane mumblings of celebrities and teenagers, you know."

She laughed. "That's certainly a more lucrative use of your time, thought." They were standing near the ticket counter, and he had an Amex black card in his hand.

"Come on, Sergeant," he implored. "An upgrade is a small price to pay for an audience with an honest-to-God New York City detective. Besides, I'm a part-time resident of your fine city. It's the least I can do to thank you for e keeping the streets safe."

His smile was disarmingly open. "When you put it that way, I guess I can take one for the team," she said. "But only on one condition."

"What's that?"

"A cross-country flight is far too long to stand on ceremony. You have to call me Olivia."

A bargain struck, Bauer handled the upgrade, and they made their way to the Delta SkyClub to grab a preflight drink.

Olivia found him to be unwaveringly friendly and unfailingly interesting. Chael Bauer was the type of person who was a gracious host, even when he wasn't-technically-the host. His sense of humor was sharp, but he saved the most pointed barbs for himself as their conversation ranged meandered to a variety of topics.

"Chael is an unusual name," she remarked as they boarded the plane. Kris had told her the story behind it, but she couldn't recall.

"It's Michael," he explained, flashing his passport before putting it into his bag. "I had big plans for myself, and I didn't think Mike was nearly quirky or distinctive enough to stand out in Silicon Valley. Who knew that, ten years later, I'd be the twit who shows a passport for a domestic flight and goes by a name that sounds more like a trendy leaf vegetable than that of a grown man?"

Olivia laughed harder than she'd laughed in a long time. Despite the hipster nickname, he seemed neither quirky nor rich. He reminded her more of a run-of-the-mill software developer than a tech tycoon. They talked about family, how Olivia became a police officer, Alex, Chael's girlfriend and a host of other subjects.

They talked from gate to gate, and the hours flew by. Bauer asked probing questions, clearly informed by what he'd known of his father's police work, but also eager to discover what had changed and evolved since the older man had retired. He took notes, sketching out for her some ideas he had on police technology and scribbling even more furiously as she told him what she'd liked-and hated-about her time in the computer crimes division. When he found out she didn't have a car in the lot at JFK, he insisted on having his driver drop her off at home. As she got out, she thanked him.

"That flight was much more enjoyable than I'd expected," she said. "But don't let me down. When you finish running the world, take some of those great ideas of yours and make my job easier."

"I promise," he replied, patting the leather bag where his notebook was. He handed her his card. "As long as you promise to stay in touch, Olivia. When you get tired of detective work, I'd be glad to have you join my team and turn some of those ideas into reality."

"I'm pretty sure I'm not cut out for a tech job," she averred.

"I disagree. Your experience and insight are exactly what will help us to make things happen, and to make them work the way they should."

To her surprise, he was serious. She wasn't sure what to say, and she looked down at his card, her thumb running over the embossed print.

"Keep that," he said. "Our paths will cross when the time is right, Olivia. A desk job wouldn't be all bad if it changed some people's lives, would it?"

10:00 p.m.

She made her way up to the apartment-a text when they'd landed told her that Bill was in town and he and Alex were having a late dinner. The place had that empty feel to it, and Alex's purse wasn't on the hall table, so she hoped they were having a nice time together.

Olivia poured a Scotch and soda-she'd need a nudge into dreamland after the long flight, time change and intriguing conversation. She turned on a lamp and sat on the couch, reaching for the TV remote but changing her mind. She sank back into the cushions, her drink on the arm of the sofa, amber liquid bathed in the warm circle of lamplight. Her mind was racing-the case in San Francisco, and her certainty that it was their killer, despite some differences too pronounced to ignore.

She was thinking about what Kris had told her-they'd met under less-than-ideal circumstances, but had bonded quickly, and Kris's sense of loss and grief were palpable. Olivia knew what it was like to do this job when your whole life was coming apart at the seams, when there was no one at home to talk to and preciously little joy to balance out the darkness they saw every day.

And she kept coming back to her conversations with Chael Bauer. When he'd stepped forward to offer his company's help, she'd viewed him as a misguided do-gooder at best, and a hindrance at worst. But a good detective had to be willing to throw out a theory when it no longer worked, and she'd definitely revised her opinion of him. He was a smart guy who earned to apply that intelligence to a more substantive cause, and he might just be able to do it. She pulled the business card out of her pocket and laid it on the coffee table.

She'd keep it. She couldn't imagine leaving the job to be software consultant, but life was an unpredictable thing. Having a well-placed friend could never hurt.

The warm Scotch had soothed her senses just enough that she was winding down. She sat her empty glass on the table, picked up the card and headed across the room to the stairs, looking forward to a hot bath and a soft bed.