Chapter 2 – Opportunities
It was the fifth time he had called in two days.
"No, no, Mr. DiPaolo. That won't be necessary. You've already been more than helpful . . ."
". . . I appreciate you taking the time to call . . ."
". . . Yes, of course. If I have any questions, I'll let you know. Have a good day."
With a groan that escaped much louder than she intended, Alex dropped the phone receiver heavily back into the cradle, closed her eyes, propped her elbows on her desk and lowered her head into her hands. The headache that had been soft shoeing around her temples since she woke that morning abruptly detached and oozed across her forehead. In a futile attempt to stave off an imminent migraine, she pressed the heel of her palms into her eyes until pinpricks of light flickered behind her eyelids.
It is going to be a Long. Ass. Day.
Cognizant that any colleague passing by her tiny office had an unobstructed view through the glass door, Alex only allowed herself a few moments of visible weariness before she took a deep breath, raised her head and opened her eyes. The sights, sounds and smells of the squad room immediately seeped back into her workspace in the far left corner of the room. The gunmetal gray desks. The dented lockers. The detritus of take away meals. Body odour and stale sweat. The trilling of phones and the hum of many competing voices. It was all so close, and yet miles away.
The detectives who currently occupied the expansive squad room bustled about like worker bees, moving between desks, photocopiers, offices and interrogation rooms as if flitting between flowers. A swarm of them had gathered around the coffee machine, chipped mugs in hand. Ferreira was among them that day, consulting on some joint Major Case-Homeland Security business. She had seen him come in, leaning heavily on his cane. He had lifted his hand in greeting as he limped past her but hadn't approached. Now he sat on the corner of a desk, laughing with the group. It was an extremely familiar scene, a recognizable morning routine; one that she had participated in many times that suddenly seemed alien. The buzz of the squad room used to energize her, motivate her in the pursuit of justice.
Now, it just made her feel sad.
Alex had been working the Major Case Tip Line for the last four months. After her release from the hospital and grudging completion of the prescribed recovery time, she had returned to the joint City-Federal Homeland Security Task Force, ready to take on the world. It was the world that was not ready for her. Minutes after pulling her chair up to her desk, she had sensed it. The earth seemed to be spinning on a slightly different axis. Her colleagues spoke to her differently – gentler somehow. Although welcoming, they seemed hesitant to ask anything of her, as though she were fragile and in need of shielding from the day-to-day ugliness that was inherent in the job. As a woman who had successfully advanced in a male-dominated profession, she had been immediately annoyed by that and resentful.
I'm not broken, dammit.
Then, to her own disgust, she had proved them right.
It was small things at first – jumping at the slam of a locker door, the avoidance of the claustrophobic confines of the elevator, breaking out into a cold sweat any time she touched her gun. Once she transitioned back to the field however, it progressed quickly to behaviours she could no longer hide or brush off - panic attacks before entering buildings, vomiting at crime scenes. She wasn't stupid – she knew it was a mixture of survivor's guilt and post traumatic stress disorder. She had worked through both during her mandatory post-incident counselling sessions, had a million strategies in her toolkit she could employ, and still she couldn't get it under control. After many sleepless nights, Alex made the decision to request a transfer back to Major Case, where she knew she could add value. The mixture of sympathy and relief she saw in her captain's eyes as he granted her request made her both furious and ashamed.
The problems persisted at Major Case. She had difficulty gelling with her new partner, repeatedly made rookie mistakes, and overlooked things she shouldn't have and wouldn't have in her prime. No matter how many hours she worked, how deeply she immersed herself into her cases, she struggled to do anything right. When Captain Hannah had asked her to step into his office one day at the end of her shift, she knew that her number was up. Alex had raged silently at herself as he awkwardly suggested that "maybe" it would be best if she took on an administrative support role, "just for a while", to give herself more time to heal. Alex had tried to argue that she was fully healed, to explain that if she just tried harder things would get better. Hannah's face was kind as he told her that it wasn't a request. It was an order.
So there she sat, trapped in a small glass cell for eight hours a day, fielding calls from people like Mr. DiPaolo, who had a variety of wild theories (ranging from the Illuminati to the President's Secret Service) about who was culpable for the recent stabbing of a high profile IT contractor. All the while, the life that she loved and coveted more than almost anything else went on without her, right before her eyes.
Back to work, Eames. Feeling sorry for yourself isn't going to change a thing.
With a sigh, Alex straightened up, tore her gaze from the hive of activity before her and placed her fingers on the keyboard. She paused for only a moment to collect her thoughts before entering the conversation with Mr. DiPaolo into the Major Case database and connecting it to the appropriate file. It was in no way a helpful tip, but there needed to be a record just in case. Her fingertips hovered near the "k" and "o" while she debated adding "kook" as a footnote to her comments. Deciding to err on the side of professionalism, she grabbed her mouse and clicked "Save" instead.
She was cleaning off her desk for the day when Captain Hannah appeared in the doorway of her office.
"Another day, another dollar, huh?"
Alex glanced up at him with a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes before resuming her attempts to shove a file into an already overflowing drawer.
"Yeah, something like that. Living the dream. How has your day been?"
"Good, it's been good." Hannah leaned casually against the right side of the door frame, arms folded across his chest. He watched her struggle with the file for another minute before clearing his throat. "Do you have a second?"
A tendril of dread uncurled lazily and stretched itself out in Alex's gut. Although she respected Hannah a great deal and couldn't argue or disagree with his decision to turn her into an overpaid desk jockey, her expectations of her interactions with her superiors lately were decidedly low.
No good will come of this.
"Of course. Come in." Alex motioned to a straight-back chair that was shoved against the left wall of her office, parallel to her desk. Hannah pulled the chair out to sit opposite her before lowering himself into it carefully. She watched him adjust his suit jacket before sinking down onto her own chair, folding her hands over her stomach and waiting resignedly for the latest axe to fall.
Hannah rolled his shoulders and settled back in his seat before speaking. "I've had an opportunity come across my desk that I think would be perfect for you."
Great. You are the first person in history to ever get fired from working the tip line. How low can you go?
"Before you go any further, Captain, am I going to have a choice here, or will this be another order?"
Alex knew that she sounded like a bitch and that her tone was completely inappropriate, but she couldn't seem to tamp the bitterness out of her voice. That had also been a theme over the last year – what before people would have described as her dry wit had morphed into scathing sarcasm.
If Hannah was bothered by her tone, he didn't let it show.
"It will be entirely your choice. It's not something you have to do, but I do hope you will seriously consider it." He gestured to the tiny glass office surrounding them. "I strongly feel that this opportunity is much more suited to your strengths than this gig. We both know that you are wasted manning the tip line."
Alex felt ridiculously grateful for that acknowledgement and was horrified to feel the prick of tears at the corners of her eyes. She hurriedly blinked them away, hiding the emotion by pretending to scratch an imaginary itch on her leg. She had never been one to crave praise from her superiors, but in that moment Hannah's benevolent words were a life preserver to a drowning woman. She clung on to them while trying to keep her face impassive.
Don't get your hopes up.
When she didn't respond, Hannah went on. "There's an old friend of mine from the academy, just got hired on as Chief of Police in Portland, Maine. He called me today. He's got big plans for the department. Too big, maybe. Anyway, he is hoping to have someone work with his detectives, do some advanced criminal investigations training. Rather than paying for a course offered by some dry academic who has never seen a crime scene up close, he is looking for a trainer with actual lived experience. I immediately thought of you."
The excitement she had felt building seconds before came crashing back down to earth.
"Captain, I'm not a trainer. I'm a cop. I'm a boots-on-the ground cop."
And I'm not even any good at that anymore.
Hannah crossed his right leg over his left and picked at a piece of lint that dotted the knee of his slacks. "I think you underestimate your strengths, Alexandra. You're an amazing investigator, one of the best I've ever seen in action. The Portland Maine PD would be lucky to have the opportunity to learn from you."
A small thrill battled with the tendril of unease in her belly. "How long would I be on loan for?"
Hannah shrugged, eyes still focused on the pleats of his pants. "Two, three weeks? Whatever you think you would need. My buddy would be so thrilled to have a real NYPD Major Case investigator work with his team that I'm sure he'd agree to whatever you want."
Buoyed by his overt belief in her abilities, Alex found herself already mentally sketching an outline of the training. "When would it start?"
"He was hoping for the end of June, beginning of July, which I know is a pretty quick turnaround. He can push it back if you need more -"
"I could make that work," Alex interrupted quickly. Not that she was prepared to admit it to Hannah, but there was nothing keeping her in the city either personally or professionally. All she went home to was an empty house and a blank social calendar.
Finally returning his eyes to her face, Hannah asked "Does that mean the answer is yes?"
Alex rubbed her forehead thoughtfully, mind racing a mile a minute as she gazed out into the squad room and considered the opportunity before her. A reprieve from her unfulfilling assignment. A change of scenery. The chance to help with meaningful police work without being out in the field. A challenge . . .
And what if you fail? Again?
She would never recover from that, and she knew it.
Excitement evaporating, Alex sighed and shook her head. "I don't think so Captain. I appreciate the offer but I'm not sure it would be my forte. The only training I have ever done is one-to-one with new recruits in the field. I can't imagine I would be any good in a classroom or with a group and I don't want to let you down."
Anymore than I already have.
As if he had known that would be the answer, Hannah nodded and levered himself out of the chair. "It's your decision, Alex. I don't agree, but it's up to you. Anyway, have a good night."
He was almost out into the squad room when something dawned on her.
"Portland. That's on the peninsula in Casco Bay, right?"
Hannah turned to face her again. "Yes, I think so. Why?"
Bobby.
Alex and her former partner had drifted apart since he left Major Case almost three years ago. Life had been busy for them both and the emails, phone calls and meet-ups had become more sporadic after about a year. He had visited her a couple times in the hospital, but once discharged she was so absorbed in her torment that she stopped returning calls and emails and refused to answer the door. Eventually, he stopped coming around at all. She did remember reading in an email, one she had never bothered to return, that he had moved out of state about six months ago, to some little town in Maine, not far from Casco Bay. She couldn't recall the name of the town, but it would be in her email somewhere . . .
A sudden, powerful need to see Bobby again washed over her, taking Alex by surprise. The possibility of a reunion brought with it a jumble of emotions that she didn't have the energy to unravel. All she knew in that moment was that he was a connection to a time when life had been good, when she had been strong, and confident, and in control. She ached to feel that way again and maybe, just maybe, being in his presence would ignite a spark in her again that had lay dormant for over a year. It was worth a try, given everything else had failed. At the very least she could use a friend, and he had been her best friend for many years.
"Are you okay?"
With a jolt, Alex realized that she had been staring blindly straight through Hannah without seeing him as she deliberated. He still stood in the doorway of her office, watching her with a mixture of curiosity and concern.
Closing her eyes and sucking in a shaky breath, Alex nodded.
"Okay. I'll do it."
If Hannah wondered at all why she changed her mind, he never asked.
