Felicity was surprised when Susan Williams answered her phone personally. The woman wasn't a national reporter, but she was well-known in Star City and snagged a fair amount of television time. Felicity had assumed she'd have an assistant handle her calls and had prepared a speech to get past the intermediary. But the reporter responded herself and didn't even block video; probably, Felicity thought, because she looked pretty damn put-together for a Sunday morning. Her thick, dark hair fell in stylish waves over her shoulders, and her brown eyes were accentuated with a smoky shadow. Felicity was acutely aware of her own hasty ponytail and lack of makeup.

"Susan Williams," the reporter answered.

"Ms. Williams?" Caught off guard, Felicity scrambled for words. "My name is Detective Smoak and I'm with the SCPD. I'm investigating the death of Isabel Rochev and your name came up in the course of the investigation. I was hoping I could speak with you this morning."

"Detective Smoak?" Williams peered at her over the phone screen. "Aren't you the woman Oliver Queen was talking to at the Lucky Stars game?"

So she had been paying attention to someone other than Oliver. Felicity nodded. "Yes."

"Does he know that you're a cop?" Williams's voice was sharp.

Lady, after last night he knows a lot about me. "Yes," Felicity said again, and offered no explanation.

"I see." Williams regarded Felicity with a shrewd expression. "So, when you were talking to him at the game, was that really just a random meeting or were you talking to him as a cop? Is he a suspect in the Rochev murder?"

It was beginning to feel like the reporter was questioning her. Felicity decided to nip that in the bud. "I'm sorry, but at the moment, I'm calling to discuss your involvement in the case, not Oliver Queen's."

"My involvement? What makes you think I have any involvement at all?"

"A witness placed you at the scene of some activity that is...relevant...to Ms. Rochev's death."

"Relevant? That's a vague word. I know who Ms. Rochev is, certainly, but we didn't spend any time together. We're obviously in very different professions. I can't imagine how someone could connect her to me. This has to be a mistake." She sounded irritated but not worried.

It may well be a mistake, Felicity thought. There was a chance Ramirez's drawing, done weeks after the fake child services visit, wasn't accurate; or Felicity had seen more in the sketch than was really there. But she wasn't going to concede that without investigating.

"The quickest way to sort it out will be for me to meet with you," she said. "If everything's as you say, it shouldn't take long."

"I'm very busy. The mayor is expected to go on air tomorrow to announce changes to his administration. I've got today to preview his plan before he broadcasts to the city. It'll take me the full day to get up to speed and prepare commentary."

"A half hour, Ms. Williams, should be enough time. I can meet you wherever is most convenient."

Williams sighed. "Fine. I'm in my office at Channel Thirty-two. Why don't you come here."

"I'm on my way."

Channel Thirty-two clearly had a bigger operating budget than the SCPD. In contrast to the department's ancient furniture and dingy paint, everything about the station was new and clean. Felicity stood in front of the receptionist's desk - a large glass expanse, staffed by a well-groomed man in a crisp business suit - and asked for directions to Williams's office. After verifying her ID and giving Felicity's jeans a disdainful glance, the receptionist provided instructions. Felicity took a spotless elevator up three flights and walked through gleaming corridors to arrive at a frosted-glass door with S. Williams etched on it. She tapped on the door.

"Come in."

Williams's office was larger than Commander Diggle's and far more elegant. There was a massive wooden desk in the center (probably antique), and a pair of bookshelves lining the walls, stained in the same dark hue as the desk. The shelves contained hardcover books, a few framed photographs, and a range of memorabilia from elections and inaugurations - things Williams must have collected from the political beat.

Juxtaposed to the old-fashioned furniture were two ultra-modern televisions hung on one wall. They were muted but running, flashing footage and talking heads from a rival station and a national news syndicate. A table held three phones, and on its corner, a computer scrolled through a text feed of Star City events. The light in the office brightened and dimmed as the electronics cycled through their screens. The overall effect made the room feel like a cross between an old-fashioned library and command central for a rocket launch.

Felicity decided she liked her cubicle better, despite its miniscule size. She found the constant stimuli distracting.

Susan Williams, on the other hand, appeared comfortable with it. She was sitting at the huge desk and staring at a second computer screen, absorbed by what was presumably the mayor's upcoming announcement. Her tailored black slacks looked expensive and Felicity guessed that her form fitting black sweater was cashmere. With her talent for remembering odd facts, she recalled that one cashmere sweater required the wool undercoat of two goats to complete. So, somewhere in the world there was a pair of chilly goats.

Williams pulled her attention from the screen and turned to study Felicity.

"Detective Smoak. Hmmm. I have to say, I didn't see that one coming - you being a cop, I mean. When I saw you the other night at the hockey game I thought you were a college student."

Felicity shrugged. "I get that a lot."

"It must make it hard to do your job."

There was neither sympathy nor humor in Williams's voice. Felicity was vaguely annoyed. It was bad enough that she got crap over her age and gender from older men in the department. From another woman, even a suspect, it felt like betrayal.

She did her best not to let her irritation show. "I keep reminding myself that I'll be happy about it in a few years," she said lightly. "Looking younger than my age, I mean." She turned to the screens on the wall and examined the talking heads. "It would definitely be an asset in your profession, I imagine. They say the cameras show every little line and blemish."

The reporter narrowed her eyes and Felicity saw that the catty remark had struck its target. She guessed Williams had six or seven years on her.

Williams pressed her lips together and gave Felicity a hard stare. "You said you had information that connects me to Isabel Rochev? I'm curious to hear what it could be. I bumped into Isabel from time to time at various city events, of course, but we didn't exactly hang out together. We have nothing in common."

During the drive to Channel Thirty-two, Felicity had pondered how to broach the subject of Williams hacking Ramirez's computer. She didn't want to lead with the drawing. His ID was weak (and possibly wrong), and Williams could simply deny it. Felicity figured her best option was to come at it from an oblique angle. She remembered the way Williams had hung onto Oliver at the hockey game and went with her instincts.

"The two of you had Oliver Queen in common," she said.

There was a flicker of anger on Williams's face and then it was gone.

Gotcha.

"Not really," the reporter replied evenly. "Isabel was part of Oliver's past. I'm his present...and his future." She sounded confident.

That orgasm he gave me yesterday says different. For an instant, Felicity was tempted to utter the words aloud, just to wipe the self-assured expression off Williams's face. But that would achieve nothing.

"He went to the Arts Council fundraiser with her," she said instead. "I watched the security footage. She was on his arm for most of the night. I believe the two of them also worked together for a couple of months planning the event."

Williams tossed her head. "Only because Oliver chairs the Council and she's a spokesperson. He had to go with her, he didn't have a choice."

"Maybe." Felicity shrugged. "But Oliver admired Isabel. He told me so when I interviewed him for my investigation. He said that she had courage and discipline." He'd said some less complimentary things too, but Felicity wasn't going to mention those. "It's a pretty remarkable story," she continued, "when you think about it. Isabel left her family and a top position with a dance company in Russia to come to this country on her own and start over."

Williams's face darkened. "It's not all that courageous. This is the twenty-first century and Russia is a few hours away by plane. It's not like she crossed the Atlantic on the Mayflower."

Felicity was about to reply, but felt her phone vibrate in her pocket. She pulled it out. There was a short text from Rory, a response to the one she'd sent him earlier: Droid shows Williams in Rochev's apartment the night she died.

Well, holy shit - that erased any doubts. Susan Williams had planted the drug evidence. She also must have leaked information to the Post-Gazette to tarnish Isabel's reputation. Felicity just needed to get Williams to admit to it. Then they could talk about who she was helping.

"Something interesting?"

Felicity looked up quickly. Williams was watching her with a canny smile.

"A piece of new information," she replied casually, keeping the excitement out of her voice. Still have to play this carefully. She cleared her throat. "Getting back to Ms. Rochev. She certainly worked hard to stay at the top of her profession. We found her records. She trained for hours and never skipped a day, even at a time when she could have rested on her reputation. I think that's what Oliver Queen meant when he talked about admiring her discipline."

Williams shrugged. "For an astute businessman, Oliver can be a little naive. Isabel did more than train to hold onto her position at the ballet, believe me."

"I'm not sure I understand."

"Seriously? Have you been investigating her at all?" Williams's lip curled. "The rumor I heard was that Isabel used chemical help - illegal chemical help - to stay fit. I thought even the police would have uncovered that by now."

Even the police? Careful, Ms. Williams, your contempt is showing.

Felicity assumed a puzzled expression. "Do you mean drugs? I spoke to a number of people at the Ballet - other dancers, choreographers, teachers. I spoke with her uncle. I never heard a word about Isabel using drugs, and some of the people I spoke with didn't like her very much."

Williams raised her eyebrows. "Really. And on her electronics? I assume the police bothered to look at those?"

"Of course we looked at them." Felicity didn't offer anything further.

"And you're saying you found nothing?"

Felicity gave an indifferent shrug. "I found a few calls from a former drug dealer on her phone, but it turns out they were planted. It was a misdirection."

Williams opened her mouth and then closed it. Weren't expecting that, were you, Susan.

Still, the reporter collected herself quickly. "How could you know they were planted?"

"I worked Digital Evidence before I came to Homicide and I'm pretty good at electronic forensics. I found malware planted on the former dealer's computer, giving someone the ability to access his phone account. Easy to fake the calls after that."

Williams pressed her lips together.

"Their first mistake," Felicity continued, "was in the choice of drug dealer. They picked a man who had a police record but had been out of the business for a decade. He hasn't had so much as a parking ticket in years. That raised a few red flags."

"Do tell."

"Their second mistake was that their computer skills were decent but not exceptional. In fact, they had to go in person to plant the malware on the former dealer's computer because they couldn't do it remotely. After that, it looks like the dealer's account was accessed from a public computer in a local coffee house."

Williams yawned. "This is all very intriguing, Detective, but I still don't understand what it has to do with me."

Felicity reached into her pocket and pulled out the drawing. "I have a sketch of the woman who planted the malware. Do you want to see it?"

"Do I have a choice?"

Felicity smiled. "It will only take a moment." Without waiting for a response, she unfolded the drawing.

Williams gave it a cursory glance. "Am I supposed to recognize her?"

"Yes, assuming you use a mirror. It's you, Ms. Williams."

"Me? That's a joke."

"I don't think so. I think you put on a wig and altered your eye color, then went to the dealer's apartment pretending to be from child services. You made up a story about your tablet not working and planted the malware on Ramirez's machine."

Williams laughed. "I think the SCPD needs to put a grownup in charge of Ms. Rochev's murder investigation. This is utter bullshit."

Felicity shook her head. "No, it's not. In the course of this investigation I've interviewed more than twenty people who knew Isabel in some capacity. Not one has mentioned any suspicion of her using drugs. You're the only one. You wanted to make sure the police knew about it. Hell, you wanted to make sure the city knew about it. Who better to leak a story to the Post-Gazette than a reporter?"

"That's pretty thin evidence."

"Maybe. But the pieces start to add up. The coffee house with the public computer used to access Ramirez's phone account? It's not far from your office and it's a popular hang out for Channel Thirty-two employees. I stopped by on my way here. The barista says you're a regular."

"So, I like coffee."

"Then there's the vial of Zoomer we found in Isabel's apartment. It didn't have her fingerprints on it. It's hard to imagine why she would go to such lengths to keep her prints off it once the vial was in her home. After all, she could hardly expect the police to search her place."

Williams waved one hand. "Now you've just lost me, Detective. You don't understand how Isabel handled her drugs so therefore I'm responsible?"

"And finally, there's Isabel's droid," Felicity said, leaving the best for last. "It has an hour of missing memory for the night she was killed. SCPD was able to recover that memory. It shows that you were in her apartment, Ms. Williams. I assume you went there to plant the Zoomer."

There was a long silence as Williams stared at her. Then she said, "You're bluffing."

"We can go down to headquarters now, Ms. Williams, and look at the droid's data together." At least, I hope we can, after I call Rory.

Williams glanced away.

"You can keep denying it, of course," Felicity went on, "until I show you the proof. Or you can admit to planting the evidence now and work with me to locate the New Archer. It's clear the two of you have been in communication. You had to coordinate with him to get Isabel to the Glades on the night she was killed. Your cooperation could be the difference between being charged as an accessory or an accomplice. I'm sure you know that the penalties for being an accessory are less severe."

Williams continued looking away and bit her lip. Felicity waited. In the silence, the television screens continued to display their talking heads.

Williams inhaled. "I've never seen the Archer in person," she finally said. "I'm not sure I could help you find him."

Hallelujah. Felicity nodded reassuringly. "You could start by telling me everything you know about him. How does he contact you? What made him contact you in the first place?"

"I-" Williams hesitated and glanced around her office. "I'd rather not talk about it here. A news station is never quiet, even on a Sunday. Anyone could walk in. I want to report the news. I don't want to be in it."

Felicity paused. It was true there was a lot of activity at the station. "Okay," she said. "Where would you prefer to talk?"

"There's a sandwich shop three or four miles from here. It's too far to walk to, so no one goes there for lunch. We should have privacy."

"Fine."

"I'll drive," Williams offered, and began gathering papers and stuffing them into file folders. "My car is in the underground garage. With my keycard, we can take the elevator straight down." She slid the folders into a messenger bag.

A tiny alarm bell went off in Felicity's brain. Going to an underground garage with a woman who had ties to a murderer didn't sound like a great idea. What if the New Archer was nearby? Still, Williams hadn't been able to call or signal anyone. And Felicity's car was also in the garage, so she was going to have to go down there anyway.

"Fine," Felicity said again. "Let's go." After all, she had a stunner holstered to her hip.

"All right." Williams slid her arms into a black, leather jacket and picked up the messenger bag.

Felicity followed her out of the office and onto the elevator.

Oliver stared at Detective Rory Regan, his mind reeling. Susan had planted the evidence pointing to Isabel's drug use? Susan had helped lure Isabel to her death in the Glades. Susan? In the few months he'd been seeing her, she had rarely mentioned Isabel. Why the hell would she want to help kill her?

They were still sitting in front of his mansion in the detective's car. He turned to the passenger window and looked up at Tommy. Tommy appeared as confused as he felt.

"Are you planning on getting out anytime soon?" Rory said tersely. "It may be a day off for you, Mr. Queen, but I'm on the clock. I've got work to do."

Oliver didn't reply and he didn't move. Something was bothering him - something more than the news that Susan was involved in Isabel's death. Some piece of information he'd heard weeks ago and filed away as little more than an amusing fact. Something that now, suddenly, seemed important.

"Look," Rory continued, "I get that you're upset. Your girlfriend may be an accessory to murder but-"

"I think she may be more than an accessory," Oliver interrupted, not bothering to correct Rory on his use of girlfriend.

The cop frowned. "What do you mean?"

Oliver replayed the old conversation in his mind, the pieces falling into place. "Susan grew up in rural Wisconsin. I remember her telling me that her entire family hunts. You know, deer, elk, whatever the hell it is they chase around in the woods."

"Hunts," Rory repeated. "As in, bow hunts?"

"I don't know." Oliver closed his eyes briefly. "To be honest, I didn't pay much attention when she talked about it. I'm a city kid. I'm happy to have my meat delivered in plastic wrapping. I just remember her telling me a story about taking down a buck, and being pretty enthusiastic about it." He looked up at Tommy again. "Do you remember Susan saying what they used for hunting?"

Tommy shook his head. "Susan and I aren't exactly besties, Oliver. But a bow is certainly possible. You have to go through a lot more wickets to buy a rifle nowadays. And with firearms, you assume full liability in the case of an accident."

"Shit." Oliver pressed his fingers to his temples.

"Let me get this straight," Rory interjected, looking at Oliver. "You think Susan Williams might not be the accessory to the Archer. You think she is the Archer?"

"I think there's a good chance she is," Oliver replied. "The archer that shot at us yesterday wore a long coat with a hood. We didn't see a face. It could have been a woman. And Susan is tall. She's about five-nine."

The cop clenched his fists. "And Smoak doesn't know about the hunting."

"No."

"And she's meeting with Williams right now."

"You said that's what she texted."

"Fuck." Rory jabbed at the screen of his phone and raised it to his ear. From where he was sitting, Oliver could faintly hear the voicemail kick in: This is Felicity Smoak. I can't take your call right now but please leave a message and I'll-

Rory jabbed again and said, "This is Rory. It's urgent. We think Williams could be the Archer. Call me." He hung up and Oliver watched him text a similar message, ending with: Call me now. The cop's phone remained silent.

Rory turned to Oliver. "Call Williams."

Good idea. Oliver nodded, putting his phone on speaker. Susan's phone rang twice before stopping abruptly; no answer, no voicemail.

"Shit." Rory said. "The woman tried to reach you all night, and now she's not picking up when you call? That can't be good."

No, Oliver thought, it's not. He could feel his heart accelerating. "I think Susan has turned her phone off. Can you trace the location of Felicity's phone?"

"I should be able to." Rory tapped an app on his device and stared at it. Then he tapped again. "Christ. The signal is giving me a one block area in the business district. It's not getting closer than that."

"Susan's office," Oliver said. "Channel Thirty-two. It's in the business district."

"Right. I'm on my way. Get out of the car."

Oliver didn't move. "I'm going with you."

Rory narrowed his eyes. "No way. I'm not bringing a civilian into a dangerous situation. You'll be a distraction."

"I can help. I know the layout of Susan's building. I know where she parks her car."

"Good. You can tell me now."

"It'll take too long. Drive."

"Not til you get out of the car." When Oliver still didn't move, Rory raised his hands in frustration and dropped them on the steering wheel. The movement lifted the hem of his jacket, exposing his weapon. It was the same police stunner that Felicity carried and it was useless, Oliver knew, against the Archer. He and Felicity had discovered that yesterday.

He opened the car door.

"What the hell are you doing?" Rory asked.

"Getting out. Isn't that what you wanted me to do?"

"Yes. Except I have the feeling you're going to go off and do something on your own. Something stupid."

Maybe Rory was shrewder than he looked. He was right about Oliver doing something on his own. How stupid it was remained to be seen.

"I can arrest you for obstruction," Rory said, as Oliver stepped out of the car. "Whatever you're about to do, I can arrest you for it."

"Yes. You can do that - after we both know Felicity is safe."

Rory pressed his lips together and squeezed the steering wheel until his knuckles turned white. "Fuck it," he said shortly. "You better not do something that gets her killed, Queen. If you do, I'll do more than arrest you."

And without waiting for Oliver's reply, he started the car and sped down the driveway.