Hey, I'm back! Hope y'all enjoyed the holidays and that the readers of my other Arrow fic, Artemis, were happy with the ending.
Disclaimer, I don't own Arrow (if I did, Olicity would've had their deserved HEA with their two kids plus one or two more. As Oliver was snatched from them instead, I clearly don't, and must make up for the depressing ending in fanfics.)
As always, read, enjoy and review!
Chapter Sixteen
Giving Statements
The day after Felicity woke up from her coma, the two detectives in charge of her case came to see her and question her about the shooting. She knew quite a few officers and detectives from her father and her job, but she wasn't familiar with these two. She had seen them around when at the station for various reasons, and her father had mentioned them offhandedly a few times, but she didn't know them personally. Probably for the best. Emotional compromise was a real thing.
"Ms. Smoak, it's wonderful to see you awake," said the older of the pair, a man with dark skin, greying hair and a goatee. "I'm Detective Lucas Hilton, and this is my partner, McKenna Hall." He gestured at the olive-skinned woman at his side, who smiled warmly at Felicity. "We're the ones investigating your shooting."
"Detectives," Felicity nodded at them tiredly. "Thanks, and I'm pleased to meet you. My father has spoken highly of you both. You're here for my statement, I guess?"
"We are, if you're up to it," Hilton confirmed. "I'm sorry to bother you right after you woke up, but the quicker we get your statement, the quicker we can catch this bastard."
"Of course, I understand," Felicity nodded. "Mom-"
"I'll go and get a fresh cup of coffee for myself," Cecile said, rising to her feet. She paused long enough to press a kiss to her daughter's forehead before slipping out the door.
Detective Hall took out a notepad and pen, perching on the chair while her partner remained standing, clearly making an effort not to appear as if he was looming or trying to intimidate Felicity.
"We'll be recording your statement while Detective Hall takes notes, if that's acceptable," Detective Hilton informed her as he pulled out a rather out-of-date and old-fashioned recorder.
Felicity was unsurprised at the dated equipment. Her father often complained about how underfunded the SCPD was, and the DCPS struggled with funding too. People didn't work for the government for the unending and modern resources. The TV in one of the playrooms at her workplace was from 2001, and Felicity frequently fixed it herself when it stopped working, in order to save the money they would have to spend buying a new one or hiring somebody for more important things.
"Sure," Felicity agreed, giving a quick nod and shifting slightly to try and get more comfortable (not an easy task when lying in a hospital bed-memory foam mattress it was not).
"So, please walk us through the events leading up to the shooting from your perspective," Hall requested, pen at the ready.
Felicity exhaled gustily and tilted her head towards the ceiling, concentrating on what had happened. "I was bringing one of my charges back to his foster home after a visit to his grandmother, who lives in a nursing home," she began. "We were on the highway, and my sister, Iris, called. I wouldn't often take personal calls when I have one of my kids with me, but Iris is pregnant and having a bit of a hard time at the moment, and Craig was texting his girlfriend and not paying attention, so I figured it'd be fine.
I noticed a truck coming up behind me-"
"What kind of truck?" Hilton interrupted. "Can you remember?"
Felicity grimaced. "I don't know much about cars or any of that," she admitted. "Even my own car, my dad helped me pick it. The truck was black, old with tinted windows. A bit banged up. It wasn't big. Maybe a Chevy? The license plate had been removed. Or rather, the plate was there, but the numbers and letters had been taken off. It must have been recent. You could see the shadows of the letters, if you get what I'm trying to say."
They nodded in affirmation.
"If you saw a photo, would you be able to ID the vehicle?" Hall asked.
Felicity considered for a second before giving a nod. "Yeah, I would," she decided. The truck she could remember quite clearly. Actually, once the disorientation from waking up had worn off, she recalled the whole thing far better than she wanted to.
"Excellent," Hall mumbled, scribbling frantically.
"Please continue, Ms. Smoak," Hilton requested. "You noticed the truck coming up behind you."
Felicity nodded and went on, forcing herself to ignore the instinctive panic that threatened to bubble up when she recalled the events that put her in the hospital.
"So, yeah, the truck was coming up behind me. It looked like it was going to try and overtake me, and was way above the speed limit," Felicity continued. "I slowed down a bit. I prefer to just let those assholes overtake them than take a risk, especially if one of my kids are with me. But it came level with me and stayed there. I looked over, just on instinct you know? The window went down and the gun was pointed at me and-"
She faltered, her heart monitor beeping and her breath going ragged. A nurse came rushing in as the two officers tried to assure her that she was safe now. Several minutes of fussing later, Felicity was calm again (aided by a tiny dose of sedative), the nurse had left and the questioning resumed.
"I don't remember anything after that," Felicity informed the pair.
"Do you remember what the shooter looked like?" Detective Hall pressed her.
Felicity grimaced, rubbing at her head. "I-uh, I'm not sure," she admitted. "It's all a bit of a blur, and I was focused on the gun. But I-"
"Anything you tell us is helpful," Hall assured her. "Is there anything else you can think of that might be relevant? Anything at all?"
Felicity shook her head helplessly. "I was focused on the gun," she repeated. "The shooter-I think they were a man, but they had a ski mask on. And gloves. Black leather gloves. I don't remember anything else. I'm sorry."
"No need, you've given us plenty to work with," Hall assured her.
"Yes, indeed," Hilton agreed. "One final question, Ms. Smoak. Can you think of anyone who might want to harm you? Anybody you feel unsafe around for whatever reason? Has anything seemed off to you recently?"
Felicity bit back the impertinent 'that's three questions' that wanted to escape, focusing on his inquiries instead. Forgetting her wound for a moment, she shrugged and subsequently winced at the stab of pain the movement caused. "I removed several kids from dangerous environments," she stated. "But just because a parent is unfit, doesn't mean they're unloving. Some have made threats, or outright attacked me. Everything is documented and reported. But I can't think of anybody specific who would go this far. I'm sorry."
"That's no problem," Hilton answered, turning off the recorder and tucking it back into his coat pocket. "Thank you, Ms. Smoak," he added. "You really have been very helpful."
"Feel better soon," Hall said with a polite smile as she put away her notepad. "And if you think of anything else, please contact us right away."
"Of course, thanks," Felicity answered, forcing a polite smile onto her lips as Detective Hilton also expressed his best wishes for her recovery before the pair left and she sagged back into her pillows, leaning her head back and closing her eyes tiredly. She felt utterly exhausted after the interview, which just went to show how weak she still was, much to her dismay.
Cecile ducked back inside as soon as the two detectives had left, a concerned, motherly smile on her face. She hurried over and fussed with Felicity's blankets, reminding the blonde of when she was a teenager, still new to the West household, and she'd caught a bad case of the flu. Her foster mother had steadfastly ignored Felicity's attempts to push her away in order to self-care, stubbornly pushing past the emotional barriers Felicity had been too weak to reinforce. It had been the first time in years that someone had actually taken care of her, and had gone a long way to getting Felicity to trust her new family.
"How are you feeling, honey?" Cecile asked as she helped Felicity adjust herself on the pillows. She didn't have a morphine drip, as Doctor Wells didn't want her to get dependant on it. They'd give her it by IV during her coma, then switched her to oral as soon as she woke up. She was on several other heavy-duty opiates too, but the pain from her gunshot wound was intense enough to cut through the numbing effects like a knife through butter. She shuddered to imagine how bad it would be without the pain killers, if this was the pain with them.
"Tired," Felicity admitted. "And stressed. I'd like to call Craig and see how he is." She cut herself short and bit down hard on her bottom lip, guilt ripping through her again. It felt worse than the gunshot. The detectives had danced around the issue, but it was obvious that they believed that the attack had not been random, and that she had been targeted for some reason. And Craig had been in the car with her, had been hurt because some lunatic wanted to kill Felicity for God knows what reason.
Cecile gave her an understanding look, reaching out to swipe some hair out of her face. "Your phone was ruined in the crash," she stated. "But I know that Iris went and bought you a new one and restored it from the back-up for you. I'll ask her to bring it in when she comes in to visit later, alright? You can call Craig then and check up on him. I'm sure he'll be relieved to hear from you. All of your kids have been so worried for you, asking daily for you."
"Alright," Felicity agreed reluctantly. She'd prefer to call sooner, but she recognized the look in Cecile's eyes and knew that the judge had made her mind up on the matter, and wouldn't be gainsaid or allow anyone to change her decision.
"Now, you lie back and get some rest," her mother ordered her sternly but gently. "You're recovering, and that questioning can't have been easy on you, even if it was short."
Normally Felicity would probably have protested. She didn't like napping during the day. It completely ruined her sleep cycle. As it was, her eyelashes felt as if they had anchors attached to them, weighing them down, and the questioning really had taken quite a bit out of her.
"Okay," she agreed with a sigh.
Cecile smiled in satisfaction and settled back in her chair with a file and pen while Felicity leaned back and tried to fall asleep despite not being able to go on her side like usual. To her (later) surprise, she drifted off within minutes at the most, completely spent despite her lack of activity.
"This is gonna be a huge shitshow when it hits the news," McKenna muttered to her partner as they left the hospital.
"Yeah," he sighed resignedly.
An anonymous tip had put them on the trail of Rene Ramirez and some careful digging had revealed a money trail leading right to Moira Queen of all people. Even if Moira wasn't behind the attack on Felicity Smoak, the social worker whose actions had led to the socialite's disgrace and estrangement from her son, she was at least guilty of having a lush offshore bank account, and she'd paid Ramirez for something. Paid him with funds embezzled from Queen Consolidated, if their findings were right.
It seemed unlikely, given that both persons of interest had reasons to hold a grudge against Felicity, that the large pay-out was a coincidence. McKenna didn't like the show NCIS, it made a mockery of law enforcement in her own opinion, but she agreed with one thing in it. As Gibbs liked to insist, there's no such thing as a coincidence.
They had just reached the car when Hilton's phone buzzed. He glanced at the Caller ID and frowned as he answered. "Quentin? What's going on?" McKenna paused in preparing to start the car, watching her partner expectantly. His frown deepened and he nodded.
"Alright," he stated. "We're still at the hospital. We'll head back in and question him now." He hung up and turned back to McKenna. "Ramirez was just admitted to hospital after a car crash," he announced. "Wasn't hurt too badly, by the sounds of it, but preliminary examination of the scene shows that the brakes were cut."
"Someone tried to kill him," McKenna murmured. Kill him and tie up a loose end.
They hurried back inside the building, this time heading to the ER instead of the wards and were soon allowed to see Ramirez. The nurse they spoke to informed them that he could be discharged if somebody could watch him overnight. Apparently, he had a concussion that kept them from letting him go home alone.
Well, if things turned out the way McKenna thought they would, he'd have plenty of company in the precinct's holding cells to keep an eye on him.
The man was sitting sullenly on an uncomfortable chair, arms crossed in a manner reminiscent of a sulky teenager. There was a faint smell of alcohol around him and he was dressed sloppily. He had a split lip and some butterfly stitches on the left side of his forehead, with several cuts and bruises scattered over him, but otherwise seemed alright. He had been extremely fortunate, it seemed.
"Mr. Ramirez? I'm Detective Lucas Hilton and this is my partner, McKenna Hall. We have some questions for you about Felicity Smoak."
Ramirez's expression twisted into an angry snarl. "Don't talk to me 'bout that bitch!" He growled in rage. "She took my baby girl from me!"
"We're given to understand that custody of your daughter was taken from you due to your repeated lapses into drug use, and violence," McKenna responded coolly. "Not to mention your apparent inability to hold a job. Curiously, even though there is no record of employment for you since around the time the courts terminated your parental rights, you recently came into a windfall of cash, transferred to you from an offshore bank account. Transferred the day before Ms. Smoak's shooting. Don't you find that interesting, Mr Ramirez? We do."
He glared, clenching his fists. "If you're accusing me of something, say it outright!" He demanded.
"Alright, if you insist," Hilton assented, stepping forward to loom over the suspect. "We think that Moira Queen hired you to murder Felicity Smoak and paid you half a million dollars to do it. Do you deny it?"
"No, I damn well don't!" Ramirez bit out. "Lying bitch had some guy pick me up. Offered to get me custody of my daughter back, 'long with a million bucks, half before and half after the job was done, 's well as a few other things. Better job for me and a private school for Zoe. Then that bitch tried to turn it around on me! She tried to kill me, swindled me outta everything she promised, no good, uppity bitch! Well, if I'm goin' down, then I'm takin' her with me!"
McKenna wondered if it was the concussion or alcohol that made him so talkative. Either way, they had a freely given confession, and they weren't the only witnesses. Several others were in the hall, two doctors, a nurse and three people who must've been in with patients but didn't seem hurt or injured themselves. All were staring, mouths agape with shock and horror at what the man had admitted during his furious rant.
The two cops exchanged looks before Hilton stepped forward again and pulled out his handcuffs, beginning to reel off the Miranda Rights as he cuffed the ranting Glades resident.
"Rene Ramirez, you are under arrest for assault and attempted murder of Felicity Smoak. You have the right to remain silent, anything you say can and will be held against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney, if you cannot afford one, one will be provided for you..."