The beginning of this story takes place in season 3, right after "Mystery Spot."
Blaire
Blaire Cartello was not a morning person and 5AM was a seven headed beast. A hand reached out from the mound of blankets towards the mobile phone on the nightstand. The device buzzed, hollering its redundant melody on a loop. The damned thing hit the floor before her groggy fingers could manipulate the touch screen to snooze. The vibrations reverberated across the aged hardwood and the young woman got to her feet. With a skilled toe, she struck the snooze button and sighed. Her hands tangled in her thick brown locks as she tied them back, out of sight and mind for the time being.
Blaire's feet faintly slapped the wood at an inconsistent pace all the way into the kitchen. Her jaw was set hard and the grunt of acknowledgment toward the figure standing at the kitchen counter was muted behind her closed lips. Liam Sinclair, a natural early riser, chuckled as she sipped her coffee. The lean brunette gestured toward the steaming cup of steeping tea on the countertop before turning back to the early morning news. Blaire thanked her quietly, taking up the warm mug in her hands. She turned and left just as slowly as she had entered.
The young woman sighed as she stepped out of the shower. Steam followed, rolling out into the room and fogging up the large mirror before her. She wrapped the beige towel snug around her petite form. Blaire wiped her hand lazily over the mirror, clearing just enough to catch a glimpse of her reflection. She wiped at her eyes, smoothed out her skin, and dissected her face briefly. Only a moment was wasted on inspection. She reached for her mint green toothbrush in the cabinet.
There was a knock at the door just as Blaire had lifted a hand towel to pat her newly scrubbed face dry. She called back the "all clear" behind the fluffy blue terry cloth. Liam entered the bathroom, wordlessly pushing back the shower curtain and stepping in.
"It's five-thirty." Liam spoke from behind the curtain, as her clothes began to hit the floor on the other side. Blaire took a sip from her mug as the water began to pour out on the other side of the curtain.
"Thanks." Blaire said softly in return. She was not sure if Liam could hear her over the running water. Blaire reached for her hairdryer.
When Blaire shut her bedroom door behind her, she was fastening the laminated hospital badge to the front pocket of her navy scrub shirt. Her hair had been pulled up into a much more professional-looking bun, fastened with a few pins.
Liam was back in the kitchen again, spreading strawberry cream cheese onto her bagel. Blaire reached for her bag that hung on the back of the kitchen chair.
"How're you feelin'?" She spoke as she slung her bag over her shoulder.
"Oh, you know," Liam swallowed the mouthful that muffled her words. "Just on the brink of a panic attack. Doin' just fine."
"We talked about this," Blaire softened, "you know what you've done to deserve this. How hard you've worked to finally get the recognition you have been waiting for."
"Yeah," Liam interrupted. "But you haven't seen the chief's face. Not a face I want to bare my soul in front of."
"He uses intimidation tactics to keep his subordinates in line. And to keep anyone who just might do his job better than him in their place in the hierarchy. But you know that you deserve this."
"Sounds like you've got a script ready." Liam rolled her eyes, "why don't you go in and negotiate on my behalf."
"As much as I'd love to give every man on that force a piece of my mind, I do have to go do my own job." Blaire opened the door to the sparsely stocked fridge and took out her chilled water bottle. "I was thinking we could order in for dinner. You know, to celebrate this next big step!"
"Let's not jinx it." Liam winced, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear at the thought.
"Oh, come on. Think positive. Pizza or chinese?" Blaire offered.
"Ooh, I could really go for some Lo Mein." Liam responded after a moment of thought, completely ignoring Blaire's sunny encouragement.
"Chinese it is." Blaire smiled as she turned toward the hallway. "If you can call it in on your way home, I can pick it up on mine."
"Sounds good. Sweet and Sour Chicken?"
"Yes, mam!" She called back, reaching down for her perfectly white work shoes. She slipped them on with a little struggle, bracing herself against the wall. "I'll see you later!" She called out, the moment her second shoe-clad foot hit the tiled floor.
"Have a good day! Save some lives!"
"I will. Go fight some crime! And don't come home until you've got a murder to solve!" The door closed behind her.
Evan's County General Hospital had grown quiet, but not a single member of staff was willing to put that statement into the universe. Murmurs of loved ones and beeps of heart monitors echoed through the hallways. Blaire made her rounds effectively, not daring to let her feet remain idle in one place for too long. She always managed to find something to do. As an ER nurse, there was never an excuse to rest, even on the slowest of days.
"Curtain 3." The head nurse, Loretta handed a chart over the high countertop at the head nurse's station. Blaire reached over and flipped open the chart. "Sutures."
It wasn't uncommon for Blaire to be called to stitch up the more superficial wounds that they treated. Blaire's intense attention to detail was something that had been picked up on by her co-workers. It was typical for her to be called to curtains where a quick stitch was required if an intern wasn't readily available.
"Looks like a kitchen knife accident." Sarah, Blaire's least favorite coworker, interjected as if she had been asked for her expertise. Blaire stifled an eye roll and turned on her heel, heading down the hall to Curtain 3.
There was no door to knock on. Blaire rapped her knuckles on the paneled wall beside the closed curtain.
"Come in." A voice responded. It sounded pained even between the thick cotton barrier that hung between them.
"Hi there, Mr. McGarrety. How're you doing today?" Blaire smiled warmly at the gruff looking man. He sat on the side of a bed, one hand cradled in the other and a scowl on his face.
"Been waiting on someone to take care of this for me." He lifted his hand, a long cut on his palm from the point where his pinky and ring finger met to his wrist.
"Oh, wow." Blaire began to scrub her hands as she studied the open wound. "How did you manage that?"
"Well, I was working in the garage sorting through my damn tools. The whole box tipped over. When I went to catch it, the carpet cutter took a piece of me down with it."
"Sounds awful." Blaire spoke sympathetically, pulling on gloves and stepping over to the wheeled stool and taking a seat.
"I wouldn't recommend it." He grunted, watching as she began to set out the tools necessary to stitch him up on the metal tray.
Blaire gave him a small smile and prepped a syringe of lidocaine. She took a quick inventory of the tools on the tray in front of her, letting her fingers gently straighten them as she went. Forceps, clamp, needle driver, scissors.
"Alright, I'm gonna talk you through this as we go." Blaire informed Mr. McGarrety as she reached out for his hand and placed it on the tray in front of her. She reached up and grabbed the overhead lamp and directed it over her head, illuminating the open wound. "First we're going to numb the area. This is lidocaine. It's going to make it so that the irritated area is a lot less reactive when we start doing the stitches, okay?"
The man gave her a quick "mhm" and let out an exhale it sounded like he had been holding. She looked up at him reassuringly before taking the syringe in her hands.
"Just a few small pinches to get the site all numbed up." She began held his hand steady while she used her over hand to drive the needle into shallow depths around the perimeter of the gash. She saw his fingers flinch but she kept him steady, pressed firmly against the tray in front of her.
"Very good." She said with a nod. "I'm going to give that a minute to really numb up and then we'll get you all stitched up and out of here, okay?"
"I'm not so good with needles." He had paled a bit between her first and second glances up at him.
"You're doing a great job so far." She encouraged, praying she didn't have a fainter on her hands. Or worse, a puker. "Just focus on something over my shoulder while I get this next part done. Don't even worry about what I'm doing over here." She gestured down at his palm laying open under the warm lamp.
"Alright. Just make it quick." He said, swallowing hard.
Blaire nodded and threaded the needle driver. Convincing herself that puke in her hair would be easily washed in the staff locker rooms if it came down to that.
"Just keep an eye on that part of the room." She reminded as she lined up the driver with the inflamed skin. "And you're gonna feel some pressure. But you let me know if you feel anything else."
He wordlessly agreed and she began. In several fluid motions, Blaire began to create the intricate knots that rebonded the man's fleshy palm. She repeated these motions over and over, every once in a while taking a second to ensure her patient was focused elsewhere and had not gone green. In and out, she laced the wound to a delicate close after several minutes. None of which were interrupted by Mr. McGarrety's limp body hitting the floor or his lunch seeing daylight for the second time. With a final knot, she let out a deep exhale and grinned. The flood of endorphins caused her toes to tingle.
"That's it, Mr. McGarrety! You did a wonderful job." She reached over and took up the gauze in her hands. Mr. McGarrety's hand relaxed in hers. She felt the relief radiate from him as she began to cover his neatly stitched hand.
"Thanks." He said, finally taking a moment to look down at what she had busied herself with.
"Now, the doctor ordered an antibiotic for you. You should be able to pick that up at your pharmacy today. The sutures will dissolve within the next week and half or two. You're going to have to keep it covered between now and then and limit your use of that hand. We have a follow up appointment scheduled for you to come back to ensure everything has healed up the way we'd like it to. And from there, you should be back to juggling tools within the week!" Blaire began to dispose of the materials she had used. "Do you have any questions before we let you go today?"
"Not that I can think of." The man took inventory of his heavily bandaged hand and got to his feet. "Can I call if my wife wants to know something? She's always asking questions."
"Of course." Blaire smiled. "I completely understand. We'll get you set up with your discharge papers. That'll have some more information for the two of you to look over when you get home."
"Sounds good. Thank you."
"Absolutely. Now make sure someone put the safety on that carpet cutter!" She pulled the curtain with a smile. "I'll have someone bring you those discharge papers in just a minute."
"Sounds good."
Blaire walked off down the hall, her stride slightly bouncier than it had been on the way down to curtain 3.
Blaire tied her hair up in a tighter bun. The morning's demands had taken their toll on her under caffeinated brain as well as the weak elastic of her hair tie. She flipped through the chart in front of her, eyes focused on the spaces between each of the words, blurring the type. She shifted from one foot to the other to give her feet a break.
She blinked twice and yawned. Leaning forward, she rested her elbows on the countertop and rubbed her temples.
"You alright?" Kim, the charge nurse, asked as she took a seat behind the desk.
"Headache. I'll be fine." Blaire smiled and pushed herself away from the dask. She turned with the chart under her arm and headed toward the break room.
Blaire grabbed a disposable styrofoam cup and poured herself some very weak, lukewarm coffee. She crossed the room as she placed the lid on the cup and stopped at her locker. She carefully turned the dial on the combination lock and pulled downward sharply at the last click. She opened the locker and dug her hand into her bag. Fumbling blindly, she found the bottle of ibuprofen inside by feel. It rattled in her hand as she pulled it out and emptied three into her palm. They washed down with some resistance as she took another sip of the horrible coffee. She shut the metal door and replaced the lock.
Blaire had not been given a second to turn around before she heard a commotion coming from the hallway. Knowing well that the ambulance bay and emergency entrance was just twenty feet from the door, she jumped to attention, leaving her coffee unattended on the counter in the break room.
There was a distressing bustling pushing past her in the hallway. EMTs, nurses and a resident were flocked around a gurney as it rolled down toward an open room. Blaire followed in suit and hustled to keep up.
"What happened?" She breathed, eyeing the middle aged man in front of them. As Blaire assessed the man, she fell into stride with the doctor and nurses following him toward an open room.
"Theodore Dawson. He's part of the team taking over the old theater. He was up in the catwalk above the stage and fell. We need to stabilize him and get him into radiology immediately." The resident, Dr. Nemenz rattled off quickly.
"Severe head trauma. Likely intracranial hemorrhaging. Possible internal bleeding based on the state of his distended abdomen." She responded, her eyes narrowed in thought as she listened to Theodore's chest. "Breath sounds are normal, no sounds of fluid or punctures to the lung."
Blaire assisted another nurse, Maria, in prepping the patient. Maria got him hooked up to a heart rate monitor while Blaire took initiative and started an IV line.
"Didn't want to... Didn't…" Theodore started murmuring. Blaire looked up at him, the man's face was swollen, distorted, and already beginning to bruise.
"I need 10mg of Morphine in a drip stat."
Maria was already on her way over with a bag, hung it and handed the length of the tubing to Blaire to attach it to the extension loop hanging from the patient's IV site.
"Call radiology. Let them know we're gonna need an emergency MRI." Dr. Nemenz spoke directly to Sarah. She took off toward the phone on the opposite side of the room.
"I didn't. The fall."
"Blaire, I need you to follow me to radiology to get these scans done."
Blaire nodded and she and Dr. Nemenz began to guide the groaning man down the hallway toward the elevator. Theo Dawson was mumbling and muttering as they went. Blaire tried to strain to make out what it was he was saying.
"I think he's trying to say something." Blaire spoke finally to the doctor as they made it to the elevator and she pressed button 3 sharply.
"After a head injury like his, I'm afraid anything he might say to us at this point would be near gibberish." Dr. Nemenz dismissed, watching the numbers above the elevator door to illuminate in turn.
"She... fall." He said gently, his lips barely parting.
The bell dinged, the elevator doors opened and Blaire and Dr. Nemenz ushered Theo Dawson down the hallway toward radiology.
"Push." Gripped the sheets under him with white knuckles as they turned the corner. Dr. Nemenz was focused ahead, while Blaire's eyes trained on the man who seemed to be trying desperately to get a message across. "Pushed."
"What?"
"Not fall." He gripped the sheets harder.
"MRI." Dr. Nemenz began as she began to roll the gurney through the automatic doors into radiology. The techs had been waiting there for them. "Fall from a catwalk at the old theater. Probable intracranial bleed. Possible internal bleeding."
"Alright, we need to get him over. On the count of three." The tech wasted no time to get Theo parked parallel to the MRI machine.
"Didn't fall." Theo mumbled as Blaire took the corner of the sheet beside his head.
"One, two," the tech began.
"Pushed." Theo breathed out gently.
"Three."
And they lifted Theo from the gurney to the platform outside of the MRI machine. Blaire felt the hair on the back of her neck standing up. Pushed? There was no denying that the words Theo Dawson was working so intently on getting past his bruised lips were a shock to her system. She scanned the room, no one else seemed to have heard, or have cared, what he had been murmuring.
Blaire began to exit the room, leaving the doctor and the techs to complete the scan to diagnose the extent of Theo Dawson's injuries. There was a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach; a feeling she felt when she knew the prognosis was going to yield disappointing results.
She reached into her pocket and took out her phone. She hit the send button twice, knowing that the last number called was the exact number she needed to dial. Blaire leaned against the lacquered cinder block as the line trilled. She raised her gaze to the drop ceiling above her and counted the panels as she counted each time the line rang. Finally, after five panels and five long tones, there was a click before a response.
"Hello?" Liam knew that a call during Blaire's shift was rare enough to warrant some concern.
"I think I found that murder for you to solve."
Liam
Liam Sinclair nervously played with a wisp of hair that had fallen out of her normally sleek bun as she continued to look over the information and photographs in the file folders spread across her desk. She'd been hoping to catch the police Chief of Evans County Police Department coming either in or out at some point in the day but hadn't caught wind of him yet. She glanced up at his office door, chewing the inside of her cheek, before forcing herself to focus back on her work.
"You trying to open that door with your mind?" Her partner, Detective Daniel Hill, asked, appearing behind her and turning to lean against the desk next to her.
"Just looking over some of our case reports before we hand them in." She told the 36-year-old, ignoring his question as she shuffled some papers on her desk into a stack. It was her roommate and longtime best friend, Blaire, who had encouraged her last night to talk to her boss and ask if she could take the lead on a case, in an attempt to shuck her "rookie" status. Liam knew that she was young and that experience came from age, and she enjoyed the autonomy and responsibility her current partner gave her. However, she had been feeling lately like she was ready to start leading cases here and there - to prove that she was ready to be considered for a senior criminal investigator title.
"Oh, good. You have a better eye for those things." He said simply, crossing his arms casually. Liam gave him a flat look.
"You're a detective. You're supposed to have an eye for detail." She retorted.
"Not when it comes to paperwork." He insisted.
"Mm. How convenient." Liam replied with a tight-lipped smile. She picked up the stack of case reports and tapped it on the table, evening the pages out, before getting to her feet.
"Here, I can take those." Hill offered, holding his hand out. Liam looked over her shoulder and cocked an eyebrow.
"Yeah, like I'm going to let you turn in my work." She shot back, walking up to the Chief's door. After the third knock, Chief Graham called out to her and she disappeared behind the door, casting a glance at her partner as she closed it. He shook his head incredulously, knowing already what she was up to.
"Sinclair," Chief Graham greeted her. "What can I help you with?"
Chief Graham was a stern man who spoke his mind and took care of business, but he also had kind undertones to him. Nevertheless, he was intimidating to approach. "I finished this month's case re-" She began, but he interrupted her by gesturing to the chair on the other side of his desk. She stepped forward, hugging the reports to her chest, and sat in the chair. Thinking better of it, she pulled the reports away from her chest and sat up straighter, wanting to look as confident as Hill would if he were in the room.
"I finished this month's case reports." She repeated, her voice clear and strong.
"Good, good." Graham replied, nodding. "I can always count on you to be on top of that paperwork."
Liam gave a tight-lipped smile "Yes, well, I've had a lot of time on my hands, since there've been less cases recently, and the work in many of these could be done by one person. With Hill being the lead officer, a lot of the grunt work falls to him." She explained light-heartedly. Graham nodded again.
"I know; I remember how that is, Sinclair. But you've got to do some busy work now and again before you can really get your hands dirty." He explained. He'd had this conversation with her before, and while he seemed to admire her persistence, it was obvious that he grew tired of it.
"Of course." She agreed, trying her best to be tactful. "I was thinking, though, that I could try taking the lead on the next homicide case that comes in. At some point, I need to get practice calling the shots." She continued. She got to do plenty of detective work as Hill's protege, but she never got to make any of the decisions. And she and Hill didn't always agree about how something should be handled.
"There's still a lot you can learn from Hill." Graham insisted. "I don't want anyone who isn't ready 'calling the shots'. That's how people get killed."
"I understand that, sir, but with all due respect, Hill is still my partner. He'd be able to help...inform my decisions." She finally finished, swallowing her pride. Graham kept his stare leveled on her and declined to speak for an uncomfortable amount of time. The urge to continue speaking was immense, but she held her ground and waited him out.
"There are no pressing homicide cases right now that aren't already assigned to a detective." He finally replied.
"But when something comes up?" She pressed.
"If something comes up, we will discuss it. But it would highly depend on the case." He conceded noncommittally. Willing to accept a small victory (as she'd never achieved one to date), Liam happily placed the stack of reports on his desk and slapped her thighs in finality before standing up.
"Thank you, sir." She told him, excusing herself from his office.
"How'd it go?" Hill asked as Liam walked past his desk and back to her own. He was leaning back in his office chair with his hands knitted together behind his head.
"You'll be taking orders from me soon enough." She replied wistfully, sitting down and pulling her phone out of the top drawer of her desk. Hill laughed and shook his head, turning back to his work. Liam opened her phone and pulled up the text conversation with Blaire which she had abandoned earlier.
What did Graham say? She had asked about an hour ago. Liam sighed and flipped the phone shut, putting it down on her desk. Her lunch break was quickly approaching, and she could update her friend then.
"The Cellar?" Hill called out without looking away from his computer, as if he had read her mind about lunch. Liam's phone buzzed loudly on the desk, causing her to jump. Blaire was calling.
"Sure. Hold on one second," Liam said to Hill, flipping the phone open and placing it to her ear, "Hello?"
"I think I found that murder for you to solve."
Liam straightened, putting her hand over the speaker and turning to Hill, "I'll meet you outside in 10."
He gave her a questioning look and shoved his hands into his pockets, unmoving. Liam rolled her eyes and got up, excusing herself. She pushed open the door to the outside and folded her arm across her stomach to guard against the brisk January air.
"Spill."
"I'm going into a meeting, Sinclair," Chief Graham said. Liam had been practically chasing him down the hall since he'd entered the precinct. Blaire had been brief on the phone, explaining that a man who came into the ER might have died under suspicious circumstances.
"It's really important, sir," Liam said, "You said that I could take on a homicide case if something came up."
"And?"
"Well," Liam hesitated, feeling the answer was obvious, "something came up."
Chief Graham stopped short, turning to give her a puzzled look.
"Hill," he called across the room. Liam's partner stood from his desk and approached them, "Have there been any new homicide cases this week?"
"No, sir," Hill replied.
"That's because it hasn't been designated a homicide yet," Liam said, trying her best to keep her excitement in check and appear professional, "A forty-five year old male fell from the catwalk at the Monte Claire. He died in the hospital not two hours ago."
"Operative Word: fell." Hill murmured, and Liam gave him a look that warned him to make himself scarce.
"We can't call something a homicide just because you want it to be, Sinclair," Chief Graham said.
"This is a homicide," Liam said finally, "I have a deathbed testimony and another victim from last month. Same fall, same place."
"And what kind of motive involves pushing multiple victims off a catwalk?" Graham asked with a skeptical brow.
"I don't know, but once I get a chance to sit down with my witness, I can sort out the details."
"A witness to the fall?"
"The witness to the deathbed testimony," Liam clarified, forcing her voice to remain level and calm. He wasn't listening.
"Alright, you can take the lead on this one," He said as they reached the conference room, "But I want it treated as a suspicious death, not a homicide. Is that clear?"
He was only giving her the case because he thought it was a throwaway and an easy way to get Liam off his back. But she would take it.
"Yes, sir."
"So what's this about a previous victim?" Hill asked as Liam settled at her desk, which was pushed against his in a pod formation. She dug a file folder from the sea of papers that painted her workspace and slid it across to him.
"Vivian Parker," she said as he opened it and looked through it, "she worked for the realty company. A witness said she went up on the catwalk to take some photos. They thought she climbed the railing to get a better shot and fell."
"Nobody was up there with her?" Hill asked, raising an eyebrow.
"Not that we know of," Liam replied, sifting through some other information on her desk. Without looking up, she continued, "I know what you're thinking, but I don't care. This is my case now, and I want to look into it."
"Aren't you worried you'll miss the chance to get a real homicide case while you're playing around with this one?"
Liam offered her resentment up to him with a look.
"Alright," he said, closing the file on Vivian Parker with a sigh, "Where do you want to start?"
"Let's start with the second victim's next of kin," Liam said, "Theodore Dawson. He was a contractor for the complex that's going up in the Monte Clair's place. After that, we'll swing by the theater and take a look around."
"What about the deathbed testimony witness? Shouldn't we interview them."
"I'll get her statement tonight," Liam said simply. She felt his inquisitive eyes on her and sighed, "it's my roommate. I'll have her write it all down."
"You got this case from your roommate," Hill repeated.
"Like I said," Liam said, grabbing her car keys with a resounding finality, "I'm not taking criticism at this time."
Theodore Dawson's next of kin was his brother, a stout man with the look of a person who'd seen too much trouble in his life. Liam felt a pit of guilt growing in her stomach as she introduced herself, hoping that she wasn't going to drag up all his recent trauma for nothing. He invited her and Hill inside his home and invited them to sit on the couch.
"Can I get you something to drink?" He asked, "I think my wife put some sodas in the fridge earlier."
"No, thank you," Liam said, picking lint off her dress pants - a nervous habit Hill had
pointed out to her countless times, "we're so sorry about the loss of your brother."
The man's eyebrows furrowed in pain and Liam hoped that he wouldn't cry. She wasn't good with tears, and as the woman of the duo, people always expected her to be good with tears.
"Thank you," he said, clearing his throat, "Theo was a good man. It's hard to accept that he…" he paused, swallowing in an attempt to keep his composure, "died before he met anyone or had any kids."
Liam and Hill exchanged a look, and Liam shifted on the couch cushion, uncrossing her legs. Hill's expression had been clear. It's all yours. You wanted to take the lead.
"I know this must be incredibly hard to talk about so soon, Mr. Dawson, but we wanted to give this terrible incident due diligence in our investigation. Would you say that Theo was...happy...with his life?"
It was standard procedure, in the case of a suspicious death investigation, to first consider the possibility of suicide. Mr. Dawson leaned forward, his eyebrows furrowing again, but this time in concern.
"Theo was alone, but he wasn't lonely," He insisted, "he had lots of friends. He loved his job. He and I were very close. I think he would've told me if-if he was feeling…" He trailed off, rubbing a hand over his face to mask its breaking, "I'm sorry."
"It's alright," Liam assured him. She waited a moment to allow him to compose himself, forcing herself to count to eight before continuing, "you said that Theo had lots of friends. Do you know if he had any enemies? Anyone who has been unhappy with him recently?"
"No, I can't imagine anybody being mad at Theo. Why? You think someone did this to him?"
"No, we don't have any reason to believe that," Hill tried to assure him, and Liam gave him a sharp look.
"Actually, Theo said some things before he died that we just wanted to look into," she said, folding her hands over her knee, "Something about a woman. Are there any important women in Theo's life that we should know about?"
"No," Mr. Dawson said, shaking his head. Liam could tell that the new information had confused and stricken him further, so she rose from the couch, pulling a card from her jacket pocket.
"If you think of anything," she said, handing him the card, "please call us. We don't want to trouble you any further, but please don't hesitate to let us know if you need anything."
"Of course," Mr. Dawson said, taking the card and standing to walk them to the door, "thank you, detectives."
The owner of the Monte Claire was a gracious woman in her forties, Elaine Li, who had crows feet that Liam sensed came from looking at too many unpaid bills. Two months ago, after a failed public campaign in the community to save the theater, she had decided to sell the Monte Clair to a development company that planned to turn the property into a shopping complex. As they continued to hammer out the details of the contract, Elaine had been working on selling and donating everything inside that could be repurposed by someone else or held local historical value. The Monte Claire was built in 1921 and boasted a high, cavernous ceiling with gorgeous intricate moldings. The Sinclairs and Cartellos had seen many traveling shows and local performances in the theater over the years. Blaire had been devastated when she heard of its sale and impending demolition.
"Here's a spare key, in case you need to get back in when I'm not here," Elaine said, pressing a key into Liam's palm, "the contractors and realtors, obviously, have had some people coming in and out, but other than that, it's been quiet as the grave around here."
There was a moment where Elaine seemed to register her poor choice of words, but Liam gave her a reassuring smile to assure her that it was alright.
"You weren't on the property during either of the falls?" Hill asked as they crossed from the lobby into the theater itself.
"I was here when Vivian Parker fell," Elaine said, the shine in her eyes dimming.
"I'm sorry," Liam said.
"Thank you. It was certainly confirmation that it was time for me to be done with this place."
"Did you see the fall?" Liam asked.
"No," she said, "I let her in and showed her to the catwalk, but then I went back into the office to discuss some things with my lawyer. "I came back around 30 minutes later and found her strewn on the seats."
"And you're certain nobody else was in the building?" Hill asked.
"Yes," Elaine replied, "I locked the doors behind her when she entered, and nobody else had been let in that morning."
"Who all has a key to this building?" Liam asked, feeling the warm metal in her hand and thinking about how easily Elaine had handed one over to her.
"Me, the manager, maintenance," Elaine said, looking up at the ceiling as she thought, "and the new owners and contracting company. I don't know how many of their employees have been given copies. The transition has been a little messy."
Liam nodded and walked toward the stage to get a better look at the catwalk.
"I have some administrative stuff I need to take care of if you're finished with me," Elaine said, "but feel free to look around. Just lock the doors behind yourself when you leave."
"Of course," Hill said with a nod, his hands shoved into his pockets, "thank you. We'll let you know if we need anything else."
Elaine left the theater, and Hill came to stand next to Liam, who had climbed on stage to stare at the catwalk, deep in thought.
"Looks like the only access is via the ladders," Liam said, pointing to the ladders at either end of the platform, "you take the right side, I'll take the left."
When they reached the top, Liam took a minute to survey the theater from her new vantage point. Even if someone had been here when the perpetrator was hanging around, there would be no way of telling. The platform was completely out of sight from the main room. Hill grabbed the metal railing and gave it a shake, rattling it harder than necessary, and Liam glared at him.
"What? They're gonna knock it down anyway," he said, "and they should. This is loose. It's obviously a safety hazard. It's plausible to me that anyone who tries to climb or sit on this might get thrown off. All they'd have to do is shift their weight in the wrong direction."
Liam refrained from telling him that she was prepared to shift his weight in the wrong direction if he didn't take this seriously. She was feeling defensive of herself and of the theater, as he clearly didn't care about its destruction. She was glad Elaine had excused herself.
They agreed to leave the theater and minutes later, he was watching Liam closely as she locked the theater doors behind her using the key she'd been given.
"We've looked into it," Hill said, "it still seems like a coincidence to me. Two horrible, tragic accidents. Can we agree to put it away now?"
Liam turned to face him, pocketing the key, "Hill, can you just trust me on this? There's more to it. I know it."
"Why? Because you have a feeling?" He challenged her.
"And so what if I do?" Liam said, squaring up for an argument, "We follow your intuition all the time. If a man says he has a feeling, it's practically considered evidence, but the minute I have a feeling, I'm making things up."
"Alright, I'm sorry," Hill said, holding his hands up in surrender, "I trust you."
Liam studied his expression, trying to decide if this confrontation needed to be drawn out further. Daniel Hill had always been the kind of patronizing "supportive" that meant he'd always agree with her until another man was saying something different, in which case he almost always allied himself against her. When it was just the two of them working together, it didn't bother her so much, but every time she truly started to trust him, he would disappoint her. Still, he was alright company and they had developed a friendly rapport over the years. Hill, a divorcee, had hinted at taking her out several times over the last few years, but the last thing she needed as a woman on the force was to be seen dating her partner.
"We should call it a day," she told Hill now, deciding she was out of patience with him for the moment, "I'll get Blaire's statement tonight, and tomorrow we can reach out to the new owners and the contractors."
Blaire
Blaire drove home in silence. From the moment she shut the door behind her and the engine of her car rolled to life and to the moment she put it into park, the only sound that accompanied her was her deep, even breaths. It took a few months after getting her job as an ER nurse for Blaire to perfect this habit. It was only after she drove home without the noise of the radio or other distractions did she feel like she was able to healthily disconnect from a day like this one.
There are few ways to get used to the idea of watching someone die. Blaire was not familiar with any of them. But over the span of the last two years, Blaire was able to create some distance between herself and those final moments with her patients. Over time, it grew easier to remind herself that it was part of the job that she had signed up for; and it was her belief that to be a good nurse, you had to bounce back from it. Severing herself from the day's events came the moment she pulled into the driveway. The last thing she wanted was the ghosts of the day to follow her into the comfort of her home.
Liam was seated on the couch when she stepped in from the cold. Stacks of files on the coffee table slightly obscured Blaire's view of her friend. Blaire kicked off her shoes and curled and flexed her toes, sighing at the freedom. She dropped her keys in the designated tray and started off toward the kitchen, not yet bothering to remove her coat or her bag from her shoulder.
"You okay?" Liam called out to her as she ducked her head into the fridge and grabbed a water bottle. Blaire thought for a moment, mindful that her response may change the course of the evening for the both of them.
"Yeah," she shuffled her brain for an anecdote to illustrate just how much of a day it had been. "Sarah filled out a chart wrong again and nearly got someone killed."
Blaire stepped out toward the living room taking a seat on the oversized chair across from Liam, her muscles in her back and legs giving out a loud sigh of relief as she did. Blaire was thankful she had the foresight to text Liam to put in for delivery instead of leaving Blaire to pick up the food on the way home.
"Are we sure she even went to nursing school?" Liam asked wryly. Blaire shook her head with a huff.
"I honestly question this every day. How she passed the NCLEX, I'll never know. She wouldn't know a heart attack from a hemorrhoid." Blaire spoke exasperatedly. Blaire was grateful for a moment of levity after such a heavy afternoon. Liam was always able to provide exactly what she needed on those days.
There was an interruption from the buzzer. Blaire went to get up to get it but Liam beat her to it, holding out a hand to reassure her that it would be handled. Liam crossed the room as she pulled cash from her pocket. There was a brief exchange at the door and Liam closed the door a moment later, turning back with food in hand.
Blaire got to her feet and began to move the stacks of files from the coffee table. Liam placed the bag on the end table and assisted her in taking them to the rarely used kitchen table.
"I thought you had your annual review this month," Liam posed thoughtfully as she began to remove the food containers from their double bags. "Didn't Sarah have hers?"
"Oh, she did." Blaire's stomach let out an excited gurgle as the smell of chinese food permeated the air. "But my supervisor didn't say a word about it because she couldn't handle confrontation."
Liam let out an annoyed huff in solidarity. Blaire uncovered her combination plate and took a generous forkful as she sat down on the couch beside Liam.
"So what happened with the case? Did you tell the chief?" Blaire looked expectantly at Liam, who was blowing on a helping of lo mein.
"He gave it to me," she paused to swallow. "He doesn't believe it's anything, but at least it's mine."
Blaire balked at Liam's response, her forehead wrinkling, "So a guy can literally tell you he was murdered, and it means nothing. Good to know."
Liam shrugged, picking through the noodles, "if this is what it takes to show him that I'm to be taken seriously and can handle more than playing backup to Hill, I'll take it."
"If you were a man, he wouldn't question your capabilities the way he does." Blaire snapped back, stabbing aggressively at a piece of chicken. "It's bullshit."
"It is bullshit." Liam agreed, twisting her fork skillfully. "But it's the only choice I have right now."
"You're going to have this thing solved faster than these apes can tie their own shoes." Blaire reassured her. She took a bite from her eggroll.
"That reminds me," Liam said, "I need you to make a statement and write down exactly what he said to you. I can help you fill it out after we eat."
Blaire nodded, taking the remote and flipping the channel to a reality tv show, "Did you go to the theater? How does it look?"
"Like a bunch of contractors have been in there ripping out seats," Liam replied. Blaire sighed in disappointment, and they fell into a comfortable silence, not even bothering to rehash their feelings on the destruction of the theater.