While you're here there'll be no drugs, no alcohol, no porn, no gambling. Keep a magazine inserted in your weapon at all times, weapon on safe, and keep your handgun and two magazines on you at all times when moving through the area because you know that if something goes down, you're going to burn through ammo fast. In case of a rocket attack, hit the deck, cover your ears, wait two minutes. Welcome to Kandahar."
"Maxima?" Helena muttered, still half asleep, the words of her friend's ghost echoing clear as a bell through her ears.
"Those fucking terrorist scum have the nerve to call us cowards when all they do is leave a bomb and run away like the fucking cockroaches they are and then they wait to ambush the rescuers too. And I'm supposed to be understanding to their cause? No. Fuck that. Boo-fucking-hoo, I don't fucking care, if I could, I'd happily go back and I'd plant a big fucking bomb and blow up the whole fucking country."
"Jane, enough," Helena sighed and while knowing her eyes were closed, in her mind she could still see herself clearly stepping out of the barracks, she could see her uniformed legs, her dusty boots, she could see herself trip over the doorstep and that's when she jolted awake, her heart thumping loudly in her throat when the anticipation of pain from the fall and the sudden startle of very vividly feeling herself fall scared her.
"...what... is this? Where am I?" she breathed heavily, realizing she'd been half asleep, that she'd only dreamt being back in Afghanistan, dreamt falling. She wasn't in Kandahar, she wasn't at home, she was in a holding cell, surrounded by stained white stone, her shoulder blades, back, and buttocks aching from having slept on the hard bench which served as the only seat (excluding the steel toilet in the corner of the room) available in the cell.
"Well... at least I'm alone," she muttered as she sat up, unaware of the string Hunnigan had pulled to make that happen. Sighing, Helena leaned to her knees and buried her face in her hands. Her entire body felt a little weak after the shot from the taser, but at least they hadn't pepper sprayed her. She'd experienced both during her training at the police academy (and again during her DSO-training, with the added bonus of being waterboarded, the experience much more harrowing than she'd expected from something that looked so simple, but when the water had forced its way into her lungs, she'd panicked, broken free from the restraints with the sheer power of adrenaline kicking in and telling her it was a fight or die-situation, and ran out of the room) and given the choice, she would pick getting tasered over getting pepper sprayed any day of the week.
"I'm in so much trouble. Hunnigan's gonna be so mad at me," Helena muttered and without any warning, burst into tears over the thought. She wasn't sad because she was in trouble, probably going to jail or at the very least going to spend the rest of her life paying off the expenses she'd inevitably have to pay to the guy she'd assaulted at the diner; she was sad because she felt like she'd let Hunnigan down, and that was the worst thing about the whole mess.
Helena sniffled and wiped her face when she heard the lock on the door rattle as an officer worked to open it.
"Good morning!" a detective wearing a dark red collared shirt and black jeans greeted as she pulled the door open. Her light brown hair was cut into a short pixie style, swept to the left over her forehead. She looked rather friendly, leading Helena to presume she was typically the one playing the role of good cop.
"I think you and I need to have a little talk," she said and Helena scoffed amusedly.
"I was always told not to talk to strangers."
"I'm detective Tierra De La Cruz, this is my partner Clarke Lewis," she introduced herself and him, and looking over at the bald guy who looked like the stereotypical tough "seen it all, doesn't care anymore, just wants to retire"-cop whose type would be played by Bruce Willis in a movie, Helena was certain she'd gotten her assessment correct, De La Cruz would be the good cop in this scenario.
"Come on, young lady, you've got a lot of 'splainin' to do," Lewis said, gestured impatiently with his hand until she stood up. He then gripped Helena's arm just above the elbow to make sure she wouldn't do anything stupid like try running away as he and De La Cruz went to have her properly booked before escorting her to the interview room.
"So... you wanna tell us why you assaulted that guy at the diner?" De La Cruz opened after Helena had sat down on the opposite side of the table.
"He assaulted me first," Helena shrugged one shoulder and told them about the slap on her ass.
"And you don't think you overreacted?" Lewis (whom Helena was mentally referring to as Bruce Willis now) asked from his spot by the door where he stood with his arms folded.
"No," Helena said unapologetically because she really didn't. She was glad the cops who'd been present at the diner had stopped her before she'd killed the bastard, but she felt like he'd deserved a lesson. She sighed in exasperation.
"Look, let's just get this over with. He assaulted me, I retaliated and as a result he's the injured party here, he's gonna sue, I'll plead guilty and everyone's happy, so let's just move this along."
"He's not interested in pressing charges, and the ADA isn't interested in that either because he's got bigger fish to fry with you," De La Cruz said.
"He's not?" Helena frowned.
"I was surprised too," the detective agreed, and Helena couldn't understand at all. Then her focus shifted to the latter part of what the detective had said.
"What do you mean the ADA has bigger fish to fry?" she frowned.
"Do you recognize this?" De La Cruz asked after digging into the folder she was holding and pulled out a photo of a phone.
"It's mine," Helena said after taking a closer look and noticing the familiar crack on the edge of the screen.
"Do you know where we found it?"
"I didn't even know I'd lost it."
"Do you know Kassandra Good?" Lewis asked and Helena swallowed hard.
"Uh, yeah, she was my drill sergeant when I enlisted in the army in 2006."
"Did you get along with her?" he continued.
"About as well as anyone does with their drill sergeant. Once, during bunk inspection she messed my bed up on purpose and ordered me to make it again thirteen times, but that was just a part of the hazing tradition, I guess," Helena shrugged.
"So you never had any problems with her?"
"Like I said, she was my drill sergeant so it's not like she went easy on me, but that's a part of the training."
"Uh-huh," De La Cruz said and Helena could easily notice she was preparing to switch to bad cop. She dug out more photos from the folder and placed them on the table.
"So, I'm guessing you had no reason to do this to her," De La Cruz said and slid the photos over the table and closer to Helena.
Oh, I had plenty of reason, Helena thought, merely glancing at the photos, not taking the time to look properly. It was obvious someone had beaten Good up properly, for all Helena knew, she'd done it, but she sure as hell wouldn't confess to it.
"Is she saying that I did?" Helena asked and pushed the photos back before instinctively moving to cover her bruised knuckles with her equally bruised other hand, aware of how pointless it was to do so, the detectives had seen them, hell, they (along with the bruises on her face) had been thoroughly photographed when she'd been booked.
"She's not saying anything, she's dead," Lewis informed her.
"Wait, she's dead?"
Lewis had already taken a long inhale to speak again when the door was shoved open, the side of it impacting into his elbow and he muttered curses under his breath at the pain.
"You, shut up," the woman who'd entered the room said, pointing her finger at Helena before turning to point at De La Cruz. "You, arrest her properly and get her to central booking so we can move this along," she then ordered.
It's the woman from the painting, Helena thought, remembering the painting of the pirate queen she'd seen at Nolan's apartment during the New Year's party. Only, the woman ordering everyone around wasn't wearing a blue bandana and a large hat over it, instead, she wore a black pinstripe suit and dark blue shirt with it, a long black coat hanging over her forearm, a briefcase in the same hand. Helena noticed she did have the earrings she'd seen on the woman in the painting, undoubtedly a family heirloom.
That's Hunnigan's mother, what is she doing here?
"I thought you'd retired, Isabela," Lewis grumbled, still rubbing the sore spot on his elbow.
"Gotta take a case on now and then to keep my teeth sharp, I would be a lousy shark without those," Isabela smirked as De La Cruz gestured for Helena to stand up.
"Helena Harper, you're under arrest for the murder of Kassandra Good, you have the right to remain silent," she began as she cuffed Helena's wrists, continuing the listing of her rights as she walked her out of the room.
"Sit tight and keep your mouth shut, I'll be over to see you as soon as I can," Isabela told Helena.
"Yes, ma'am," she muttered an answer as she was being walked through the precinct. Her heart leapt when she saw Hunnigan standing the lobby. She was dressed in a long leather jacket, a navy blue hoodie and jeans underneath, a gray scarf loosely wrapped around her neck. For a moment, all Helena could do was stare at her almost not believing she was here. Hunnigan was speaking to a man with black hair and a neat beard, the gold-colored sergeant's shield attached to his belt telling Helena that he was undoubtedly the one in charge here.
"Seriously, kitten? You had to drag her into this?" he sighed in exasperation, nodding toward Isabela.
"You're the one who told me to get a good lawyer," Hunnigan said innocently.
"Hunnigan, what are you-" Helena began to say and took a step toward her but detective De La Cruz yanked her back before she had a chance to go to her.
"It'll be all right, I'll see you after the arraignment, okay? Just, do as Isabela says," Hunnigan said as De La Cruz kept walking Helena out.
"You sure do have friends in high places," the detective scoffed.
Helena agreed, even if she didn't understand how and why she had gotten so lucky.