Charlie Green tried to control her nerves as she pretended to powder her nose across the street from the Eighth Precinct of the NYPD. She had her back to the precinct and was standing in a dead spot between two of the street cameras facing her side of the block. She watched in the compacts mirror as the attractive detective she had spent the last week or so tailing walked up the steps and through the doors of the police station. Putting the mirror away she pulled out a paper and pretended to read for a couple of minutes. It was the middle of the day, so she wanted to give the Detective time to settle in after lunch but didn't want to risk her getting called out on a case. She knew that the window of opportunity to catch the detective without her partner would be hard to come by again. Looking in the compact mirror, she checked one last time that her short black-haired wig was in place and that her brown colored contacts looked ok. Straightening the hipster style frames she was wearing, she took a deep breath and headed across the street, careful to keep her face averted from the several security cameras in the vicinity.
Taking off her black wool jacket, she entered the precinct and spoke to the Desk Sergeant. She told the portly Sergeant with the kind face and booming voice, that she had an appointment and was asked to sign in and show id. When she had first been trying to figure out a way to get into the precinct without tipping her hand, Charlie had decided that imitating a reporter was her best bet. After looking through personnel records for the major newspapers in New York she had stumbled across Gina Taylor. Charlie was sure she could fake Gina's look and it had been surprisingly easy to fake the press credentials. She just hoped that the Detective she was at the 8th Precinct to see had never met the real Gina Taylor. Charlie was pretty sure the chances were minimal, Ms. Taylor wasn't a field reporter and worked research on the sports desk. Still, she was a little nervous as she clipped on the visitors pass the Sergeant gave her and followed his directions up to the second floor.
"Detective Carter," Charlie greeted when she got to the Detective's desk. Putting on a smile and extending her hand she said, "I'm Gina Taylor with the Post. Thank you for meeting me on such short notice."
"Ms. Taylor," Carter said, returning her hand shake and signaling Charlie to sit on the chair at the side of her desk. "I only have a couple of minutes unfortunately. You said over the phone that you were working on a story about a string of robberies that related to an old case of mine?"
"Yes. I am tracking a crew that works on the East River Water Front from Pier 35 up to East River Park. The case that caught my attention was a drug related robbery homicide from May 17, 2012. The victim's name was Alicia Corwin."
If Charlie hadn't been looking for it, she might have missed the subtle reaction that the name caused in Detective Carter. She definitely knew something. "The Corwin case? You think that is related to the story you're following? That was almost three years ago. I'm sorry but I don't really remember that much about it."
"Yes, well I was hoping that you might let me have a peak at the case file. I put in a request for a copy with the city about a month ago and my Editor is getting on me about wrapping this up soon."
"I'm sorry, but my Captain is pretty strict about that sort of thing. You'll have to wait to go through the proper channels."
"Is there anything that you're allowed to tell me or can do to speed up the process? My Editor is really riding me. Please?"
"Well," said Carter warily, "Let me go grab my notes from the case and make a phone call and I can give you a brief overview."
"Thank you so much. You are seriously saving my job here," Charlie gushed, laying on as much charm as she dared. As soon as Carter was out of the room, Charlie pulled a thumb drive from her purse and, making sure no one was looking, reached across and plugged it into the USB port on the side of Carter's keyboard. The hacker acquaintance she had purchased to drive from had assured her that the drive would unlock and copy a hard drive in 60 seconds or less. While she waited, she slipped on an earpiece to listen to the bug that she had planted on Carter during their handshake.
"John," Charlie heard Carter saying. She must have made a phone call. "There's a woman here at the station asking about the Corwin case. She's pretending to be a reporter. Gave me some cock and bull story about a robbery string near pier 35 that she's investigating. You said if anyone ever came sniffing around the case you wanted me to call. What do you want me to do?"
"Try to get a picture of her," Charlie heard a low male voice reply as she pulled the thumb drive out of the key board and got up to leave. "And stall her. I'm five minutes away. I can follow her as she comes out of the precinct." The voice sent a chill down her spine. She had reached the street outside and turned left, walking briskly away. She wanted to get out of the vicinity as quickly as possible.
As she turned the corner at the end of the block, she could hear Carter asking another officer if he had seen where Charlie had gone. After a couple of minutes, Carter made another call. "John," she said, "She's gone. I don't understand? She didn't get any information. Why come down here at all?"
"I don't know," she heard the soft voice answer. "I'll have Finch check the security feeds to try and get a picture." Good luck, Charlie thought as she climbed down to the subway. "Can you meet me in an hour? West side of the fountain in Washington Square Park?"
"Yeah, I'll be there."
'Finally,' Charlie thought as she ducked into the public restroom and began to change. Even the horrendous smell could not dampen her elation. She had wasted three weeks trying to track down the ghost that was Harold Finch from Alicia's notes. After giving up she had decided to take a different tack and now, suddenly, a link to the mysterious Mr. Finch fell into her lap. Pulling off her wig and unpinning her hair, she let her natural mahogany curls cascade down her back. Next, she took off the maxi skirt she had been wearing over her black skinny jeans. Stuffing the skirt in her messenger bag, she pulled out an empty, rolled up black back pack and stuffed the messenger bag in the bottom, making sure to take out the items she would need easy access to. Last she changed from the colorful blouse she had worn to see Detective Carter to a black turtleneck. Putting her peacoat and backpack on, she waited for the next subway train to arrive before exiting the bathroom, pulling up her hood, and blending into the crowd exiting the platform
The surprisingly sunny February afternoon meant that Charlie didn't stand out as she sat on one of the sinuous stone benches facing the park. Even though it was still very chilly, NYU students and courageous tourists dotted the park. As she ate the chocolate croissant and drank her latte from the French style bakery she had found down the street, she was hit with a sudden pang of homesickness. While she had grown up in Colorado Springs, and gone to college in Maryland and New York, she had lived for the past four years in the Servette neighborhood of Geneva, Switzerland. Every morning on the way to the metro, she had stopped at a boulangerie around the corner from her flat for croissants and coffee and then ate them in one of the parks on the way to work at the Palais des Nations. While the croissant she was eating currently wasn't quite as good, it was nice to be doing something familiar.
Checking her watch, she saw that she had ten minutes until Detective Carter was supposed to meet the mysterious and gruff voiced John. Checking that the little laser shotgun microphone was set up to record on her iPad, she positioned the backpack so that the mesh pocket the microphone was in was angled towards where Detective Carter was supposed to meet the mysterious John. That done, she transferred her earbuds from her phone to the iPad and then pulled out a book and started to read. A couple of minutes later, she saw the Detective enter the park and head towards a tall, attractive but forgettable man in a black suit and wool overcoat. 'Ah, that must be the Clint Eastwood mimic,' she thought.
"Detective," he greeted in the same gravely, almost whisper she had heard on the phone. All he needed for the impersonation to be complete was to ask a punk to make his day. "It's good to see you back at work. How are you feeling?"
"Good. I'm almost done with PT and I'll be back on active duty in a week or so. Riding a desk is driving me crazy, but I'm just grateful that I'm bored, not dead." She smiled then, looking out over the park. After a couple of moments of awkward silence, she looked up at John. "How long before we are back to normal?" she asked.
'Normal?' Charlie thought. What was the Detective asking about?
After another long pause, Carter turned back to John and he smiled at her, a little wistfully it seemed, before leading her towards the fountain. "I don't know Joss. I'm sorry it didn't work out between us-"
The rest of the conversation became inaudible as they sat on the lip of the fountain and the acoustics of its bowl started throwing back an overwhelming amount of ambient noise. Discretely, Charlie reached into her bag and switched off the mic before unplugging her earbuds and switching them back to her phone. Luckily, the Detective had not discovered her bug yet. "How about you, how was Italy?" Carter was asking.
"Interesting. Stopped an Israeli hit squad. Kept a plane from blowing up. Got a new suit. You know the usual."
"Uh-huh. Do you guys have a new case yet?"
"Yeah, Kelli Lin. Shaw, Finch and I are going to an event she's planning at the Metropolitan History Museum." 'Yes,' Charlie thought. She knew exactly where Harold Finch was going to be tonight and she could finally catch a glimpse at the bastard she was sure had been involved, and maybe responsible for, Alicia's murder. Mentally shaking her head, she tuned back into the conversation as John was asking the Detective about her visitor.
"She called me earlier today inquiring if she could come ask some questions about a cold case. I usually wouldn't have given her the time of day but, like I said, sitting at a desk all day is boring. I didn't know she was looking into the Corwin case until she showed up. After I talked to you on the phone and found that she was gone, I called the Post and was told that while they do have a Gina Taylor, she works the sports desk and just went out on maternity leave today."
"Finch hasn't had a chance to look at the footage from the station yet, he was running some errands this morning. What did she look like?"
"Caucasian, short, maybe 5'1", 5'2", slim. Definitely not 8 months pregnant. She had chin length black hair with bangs, glasses, brown eyes. That sound familiar?"
"No," he mused. "But we should be able to find out who she is pretty quickly. Hold on a second," he said before getting out his ringing phone. As he went to answer it, there was a sudden high pitched feedback whine. Pausing, John looked from the phone to a bemused looking Carter. "Joss, I think you've been bugged."
'Shit,' Charlie thought. As naturally as she could, she reached into her pocket and shut off her phone. Putting her book away, she slung her backpack over her shoulder and got up to casually walk out of the park. She wanted to look back to see if they had taken notice of her but dared not.
Charlie smoothed down the front of her velvet cocktail dress and her auburn wig as she walked into the Metropolitan History Museum. Smiling at Henry, her escort, she was once again thankful that she had gone to grad school at Columbia. That afternoon she had tried to figure out how she was going to get close to John and the elusive Mr. Finch when she had remembered her old friend from Columbia, Henry Walker. He was working as an assistant curator for the museum and getting him to invite her to the event that evening had been child's play.
"You look hot Green," Henry replied as he took her coat to give to the attendant.
She smiled up at him as she took his arm. After securing the invitation, she had rushed to Bloomingdales to find something to wear and had been relieved to find the wine colored dress. It had been perfect with its three-quarter length sleeves and the asymmetrical cut out over her décolletage. What had been better was finding the 4 inch, black suede, Ferragamo pumps. Even though she had limited resources if she wanted to stay off the grid, she justified the expense because she knew she could get a lot of mileage out of the dress and heels for events she constantly had to attend at home. If she made it home. Besides, she was on something of a crusade, so it was worth it.
"You clean up nice yourself Walker. That tux is a damn sight better than the ratty jeans and Tool t-shirts you were always wearing to class. I think your professors were incensed that the most promising Art History student of the year dressed like such a slacker."
"That's just how you do in Cali baby," he said as they entered the main reception hall and checked in. "Charlie, do you mind wandering around on your own for a bit? I need to go check in with my boss."
Smiling, she waved him off before proceeding to move slowly around the room, admiring the art and artifacts while keeping an eye out for targets. She was admiring a beautiful Cezanne landscape when John walked in. She was taken aback by how handsome he looked, tall and broad shouldered in a beautifully tailored black tuxedo. 'Just because he's sexy, doesn't mean he isn't a murderer,' she reprimanded herself sternly. Beside him was a shorter man with glasses and spiky hair. As they got into the reception line, she noticed that he was walking with a limp and seemed to have a very stiff neck. Wandering over to look at a statue of a lady playing a harp, she could hear them as they checked in.
"Wren, Harold," the man told the attendant.
"Of course, Harold Wren," she said, looking up from her clipboard only to look admiringly at John. "And guest."
'This has to be him!' thought Charlie, trying to reign in her excitement. After a month of searching all over New York for even a trace of the bastard, here he was. She followed them around the room, watching as they admired the art. As she watched, she saw John touch his ear discretely and was wondering at the odd little motion when it occurred to her that he was communicating with someone. 'But Harold is right there,' she thought. Then she realized that there must be another member of their evil little cabal that he was talking too. Was it someone in the room now, at the event? She wished she could hear what they were saying. As Harold wandered into the crowd around an old text, Charlie realized that if she were going to get a bug on him, the crowd looking at the ancient tome was going to afford her the best opportunity. Reaching into her bag she lifted out one of the last bugs from her supplies of surveillance equipment and began moving towards Harold. Half way there, all hell broke loose.
The lights suddenly died and the event hostess started speaking over the sound system. She was half way through asking everyone to stay calm when soft popping explosions could be heard going off, one after another, all the way around the room. Smoke was curling along the floor, women were screaming, and suddenly everyone was rushing about, trying to find an exit. Taking advantage of the hysteria and the several people jostling Harold as he stood still in the middle of the stream of bodies exiting the building, Charlie hurriedly closed the distance to Harold and dropped the bug into his pocket from behind as an elderly couple jostled him from the front. Continuing on with the wave of excitable party goers, Charlie exited the museum, triumphant.
Hello, thank you for reading the first chapter of my first ever published FanFic. I hope you enjoyed it!