4.07 - Homecoming
The police get closer to finding the missing Hoffman, Louise.
Reviews have been pretty thin on the ground lately. Give a howdy and let me know if you're still reading.
Leaning over the box, Holly smiled a tight grin of glee. It was what Gail called her evil smile. Oh yes, Holly had one of those. Of course she did.
"All these years and superglue is still the best," said Ananda.
They were both watching the fingerprint raise itself on the charred matchbook Vivian had found.
"I did the laser scan first," Holly said primly. She loved the laser scanner. It took incredible, high detail shots. The problem was the detail was too much for most of the old school, low quality prints they had. Ink prints looked fake when compared with the laser.
On the other hand, the laser was used on all officers now, so the police database was astoundingly detailed. Holly had greatly admired the work, at least until Gail teased her for drooling over thumb prints.
"Do we have any exemplars?"
"Nope. A visual told me it's not a match for Sandy or Walter. And I don't have a print for Louise."
"Makes you wish families had more matching prints, huh?" Ananda shook her head and went back to her bench.
It did though. If only something other than blood was measurable. Even the rare doppelgänger was unexplained. It just happened. And while Holly could look at her parents and see herself, she could also look at her daughter and see the same things. Confirmation bias at work. The physical aspects of a person could be changed. Their genetics could not. At least not yet.
While Holly had a lot of things to do, she wanted to personally run the print. Gail's theory that this was the sister was sound. The physical evidence implied it as did the video. Goff's description also matched, though Holly was interested to know how Gail hadn't punched him. She had much more self control than people gave her credit for, after all, but even Gail had limits.
The toxic smell finally cleared out of the fume box and Holly opened it up. "That is a good print," she muttered to herself.
"You want me to get someone to run that?" Ananda didn't get up from her workbench.
"No. I want to see this through."
Her lab co-chief didn't bother asking again, leaving Holly to carefully remove the matchbox and print it. It wasn't as often as she liked that Holly got the chance to play with the cameras. The new ones were so amazing though, she could squeal from joy. They had the perfect angles to take photos, they could zoom it, and since they were digital, they could be immediately reviewed and sent to the database.
Holly got the perfect picture in three shots and sent it off to the fingerprint databases, hoping for a hit. She didn't expect to find one. Once the photo was sent, Holly carefully bagged and tagged the evidence and put it away. She cleaned up her workstation, set the fume cabinet to self service, and headed back up to her office.
She loved her work. She was a pathologist by trade, but like everyone else who had ever worked in forensics, Holly was a dab hand at the lab work. It was a requirement of employment, both initial and continuing. Even Holly had to take classes to refresh rarely used skills, to learn new ones, and to perfect common ones.
Taking the time to put her rusty lab skills to use was always smart, and Holly loved it as much as everything else. Science was cool. Science was always fun. She could see her life as anything but a scientist and, thankfully, her wife loved her for it.
That reminded her...
On the elevator, Holly texted Gail.
Sent your matchbox to the computer gods.
Her wife replied with a prayer emoji.
Holly grinned.
"You look happy," said Ruth as the elevator doors opened. She was holding her tablet.
"I got to play with science." Holly pointed at the tablet. "Why are you here? Are you going to destroy my mood?"
Ruth looked chagrined. "I hope not? It's the paperwork for turnover." She held the tablet out and Holly took it. "I need your approval to take your four monthly meetings off your docket and put them on Rodney's."
"Oh hell, I love you, Ruth. Is that really going to happen?" Holly quickly read the draft Ruth had made and affixed her signature to the bottom.
"Yeah, weirdly enough. You see, it's all shifting to discussions for the next half of the year, which will need Rodney's hand anyway. It's practically the perfect time to take all your work away."
"I may go on vacation," mused Holly, and she handed the tablet back. "How's our painting doing?"
"It's not much of a conversationalist," said Ruth, dryly. "I can't believe they set Fifteen on fire." Then she asked "How did she sneak the painting out?"
"The dummy painting with the cash paint bomb in it? She opened it up, popped it out of the frame, and pulled a Pierce Brosnan Thomas Crowne." And Holly explained.
It was a movie scene that generally caused everyone in the Stewart/Peck household to swear. Gail especially. The way a painting worked, the inner frame was built by wrapping a canvas around wood stretcher bars and then stapled into place. The fantastical maneuver of Thomas Crowne, throwing it into a briefcase and folding it, would have broken the bars and torn the canvas.
No true art lover would ever do that.
And yet that was exactly what the idiot did. She popped the case open, ripped the painting out of its frame, and broke it to stash it in her giant purse.
Gail had been appalled. And pissed that her paint bomb didn't work. Though they'd not actually found the paint in the fire, so there was a chance that their thief still had it. Holly's idea was that the painting was folded fast enough that the spring loaded explosion didn't go off.
There may yet be a blue faced art thief. Hopefully.
Free of more of her work, Holly went into her office and checked on the thumbprint. Nothing yet. That really wasn't too surprising when she thought about it. The number of prints that had to be scanned against were incredibly huge, and growing every day. Computers were faster, but more prints were added every hour, hell every minute around the world.
Since this crime involved an international art scandal, Holly had set it to search Canada and then America, MI6, and Interpol. If those came up empty, she'd add on South America, Asia, and Africa. Hopefully it would be found before then. Even with faster computers, it would be luck to get a same day reply.
Of course, Holly had prioritized her search. Women between the ages of 20 and 40 were at the top. Anyone known to be alive was going to be given weight to as well. But still, it took a long time. TV made it look faster. She sighed.
The knock on the door pulled her out of her head. "Hey, Chloe." Holly smiled at her friend.
"Hi..." Chloe hesitated. "Can we do lunch?"
Holly blinked. "Of course." So rarely did any of their friends come by work and ask for anything like that, she almost always said yes. And even Holly, who was terrible at reading people, could see Chloe was distraught. "Let me save this report?"
"Oh yeah, yeah, that's fine." Chloe looked incredibly distracted and, after a glance at the window (where one could see Fifteen) she winced and went into the waiting room.
That was not a good sign.
For the most part, Chloe was silent as they walked down to a gastro pub that Holly picked. It served comfort food, and that looked like what Chloe needed just then. The detective bestirred herself enough to order mac and cheese, while Holly picked a vegan meatloaf.
She waited nearly all the way through the salads and, finally, Chloe spoke.
"I'm getting divorced."
Holly winced. "Oh. God, I'm sorry, Chloe."
"I know, right?" Chloe stabbed at the last tomato on her salad. "How do you do it?"
"Sorry, what?"
"You and Gail. You just... she never gets upset or angry when you want to do things with your job." Chloe frowned. It was a surprisingly foreign expression to see on the petite woman's face. "You wanted to be chief medical examiner, and she didn't even flinch."
"Technically I wanted that before I met her," demurred Holly. Though a reminder of Gail's flippant remark of how success was a turn on sprang to mind.
"Not the head of Ontario though."
"Well. No." Holly sighed. "But Gail... She's made a lot of her career too. Head of OC?"
To her surprise, Chloe extended both hands. "That's my point. You and Gail, you have this ... You have a balance. She doesn't get all upset that you put career before family, or stupid stuff."
Oh. Holly felt an expression of supreme distaste cross her face. "I wish I was shocked," she told Chloe. "But Dov does not always have the, ah, goose / gander paradigm clear in his mind."
Her friend nodded, morosely. "What's good for the goose ain't good for his wife, that's for sure."
"I'm sorry, Chloe," she said a second time. "Are you ... Are you sure?"
And Chloe nodded. "I wish I wasn't, but I am. I love him, and I love Chris, but I think Gail was right. We never should have gotten married."
That had been Gail's opinion, the decade or so before. She felt Dov and Chloe were just better as a couple and not married.
Holly sighed and leaned back as their food arrived. "Well. So where are you going to live?"
"I was thinking of my parents' place. They're used to generations under one roof. Except they'll give me a huge dose of I-told-you-so and I don't think I can stomach that."
"Not after ... No." Holly hesitated and wondered if Gail would kill her if she offered their home.
"And not your place, please, Holly." Chloe smiled. "I'd be dead in a day."
"I was thinking a week," admitted Holly, and Chloe laughed. "You know, Steve invested in a couple apartments. I bet he could help."
Chloe sniffles and sighed. "You're pretty amazing, Holly. I mean... you jumped right into help mode."
Smiling weakly, Holly shrugged. "It's what friends do, Chloe."
"Never leave me," said Holly the moment Gail walked in.
"Ah, you had the other half of the Dork Kingdom?" Gail shook her head. "Let me ditch the weapons."
Gail had, much against her wishes, spent her lunch with Dov. He'd walked in with her favorite Thai food and announced he was getting a divorce. It wasn't at all a surprise for Gail, frankly. That Dov and Chloe loved each other was never in doubt. They did. They just had started wrong.
According to Dov, the situation had gotten worse after Chris came out. Not that he was blaming his child. Just that the arguments about how they'd not seen it coming were exacerbated by that situation. The problem was simple. Neither of them were home enough to see things clearly and be supportive. And neither of them were willing to step down and re-prioritize.
Both Dov and Chloe wanted to continue their career advancement. Dov felt like he'd been shackled and forced to stay as sergeant longer than he wanted, just because he needed to be more available for when Chloe was off under cover.
No one asked Gail for sympathy or to be a shoulder to cry on. Gail had told Dov off for being an over controlling idiot. Relationships were always give and take, and if she could figure that out, by god so could he. But Dov was certain. He loved Chloe, but they couldn't get the balance.
It was all about the balance. It was all about talking to each other about fears and doubts and dreams and hopes. And a lot of therapy in Gail's case.
She came back down, weapons and work discarded. "Okay. What was Chloe's side?"
"That Dov gave her an ultimatum. Work or family."
"Well at least they're consistent," muttered Gail. "That's what Dov told me."
Holly made a very disgusting expression. "Our Dov?"
"Oh yeah. He's always been a little odd about that. Always trying to prove himself, kinda like me." She shrugged. "That's why he got suspended and actually in trouble after the shooting."
"Yeah but ... A sexist?"
Gail shook her head. "He's not. I promise you, if he'd been married to Diaz, it'd be the same thing."
"That doesn't make it much better," muttered Holly.
"I know. If it helps, I hit him with a newspaper."
That beautiful smirk quirked up on Holly's face. "A little."
Gail beamed and kissed Holly's cheek. "Dinner?"
"Oh... yeah. I have some leftover vegan meatloaf."
"And good for you. I'm going to make chicken breast stuffed with ... avocado, chili peppers, rice, and some other veg." Obviously Holly had gone to the gastro pub. Vegan meatloaf. What a fucking crime.
Her wife sighed. "For two? Shall I do the rice?"
"We have enough in the fridge I think."
They paused the conversation of divorce to sort out ingredients and, as Gail started to prep, Holly sighed again.
"What's wrong, doc?"
"What if that's us?" Holly sounded a little scared.
"It won't be," Gail said firmly.
"Yeah, but—"
"No. Holly. It won't. Because we started by talking." Her wife made a confused express and Gail went on. "You and me, we talk. That's what's so great about us, right?"
Chagrined, Holly nodded. "Yeah."
"Well. We talked a lot before we started dating. I told you about my idiot exes and you told me about yours and we talked, Holly. Dov and Chloe? They screwed in the bathroom at the Penny the night they met."
Holly made a face. "That was them? Ugh, no sex in bathrooms, please and thank you."
"I'm just saying." Gail put her knife down. "Look. Dov and Chloe went into their relationship as wildly different people. All the things that drove Dov crazy about her in the beginning, they're still there. She reminds him of his mom, among other things. And ... He never got comfortable being the reinvented Dov. The us we all become when we do college and the first real job and grow up, y'know?"
"I guess," muttered Holly.
"Oh come on. When did your parents start accepting you were your own person?"
After a moment, Holly replied, "When I sold my motorcycle."
"Right. You showed them dedication and determination that you were going to be you. Me, it was when I moved in with you." Gail shrugged. "Dov's problem is that he didn't get that. His mom killed herself before he could, and his father's spent most of Dov's adult life dissociated from reality. He's in his religious books all day."
Once, Gail had met Dov's father. When Dov and Chloe had decided to marry, Gail took on the job of telling Dov's father. She lost the coin toss with Oliver, but more importantly, it was a family who'd never heard of Peck and Gail was probably not going to get shut out.
Gail's first impression was that he was a nice enough man, but distracted. Thin, like Dov had been when the met, and yet unhealthily scrawny. Asthmatic and neurotic, the man never once looked Gail in the eye. When Gail explained she was there to invite him to his own son's wedding, the man replied that Adam was dead. The conversation went downhill from there, and ended when she was told he had to get back to his reading.
When she relayed the conversation to Dov, he just nodded and thanked her for trying. Sometimes Gail forgot how everyone's parents fucked them up in some way or another. Even Holly's parents had done a small number on her, and they were pretty much Gail's ideal parents.
Holly sighed again and walked over to lean against Gail, prompted her to wrap her arms around the doctor. "How come we worked?"
"We talked," said Gail quietly. "And we tried. And we listened. And we heard what the other one said and we respected each other."
Her wife pressed her face into the crook of Gail's neck. "Andy and Sam got divorced. Ollie and his first wife—"
"Zoe."
"Right. Oliver and Zoe divorced. Frank divorced three times."
Gail rubbed Holly's shoulder. "And my parents divorced. Holly... They aren't us. My parents divorced because Mom woke the fuck up and realized she was in an emotionally abusive relationship. Frank was never home until he married Noelle, and they're perfect together. Zoe hated that Ollie was a cop. Celery on the other hand respects his life choices, and he does the same."
Holly huffed. "And Sam? Andy never got married again."
"Well Andy is a fucking moron. She was in love with the idea of marriage and kids, but that was because she was a victim of the media."
There was a pause and Holly leaned away to look at Gail. "Seriously?"
"Seriously." Gail kissed Holly's forehead. "Check it out. Andy was raised by her dad, Tommy—"
"Who isn't her dad."
"Right. But she didn't know that. She knew that she had a mom who left her, so she created this idealistic picture of marriage in her head. People would fall in love, marry, have babies, live happily ever after. She rushed into that with Luke and Sam, and I think she's damn lucky she didn't with Nick."
Holly scrunched her face up. "Nick doesn't want to marry?"
"Not really. I think my mom terrified him into it."
"She is quite subversive," agreed Holly, reluctantly. "But—"
"No buts." Gail scowled. "Look. I'm in love with you. Still. Every day I wonder how the hell I got so lucky to have someone who likes me, cranky parts and all. You like all of me. The screwed up and broken, the bitchy and the mean. And you like that I'm driven—"
"Actually I kind of love your obsessiveness," admitted Holly, sheepishly. "You solving crimes is ... your brain. It's amazing."
"See? And I think the same way!" Gail let go of Holly and rubbed her upper arms. "We came into this as equals. We started out as people who respected our jobs. We decided to get married together. We decided to adopt."
Reluctantly, Holly nodded. "We did."
"Look, have you ever thought you sacrificed your career for me and mine, or Viv?"
Holly was surprised. "I ... well yes, but not in that way. I made a choice. I wanted to have you. Maybe I could have done more, or had more kids, but ..." Holly trailed off. "I'm not mad or sad about it."
"You feel content."
"Yes. I do. Don't you?"
Gail smiled and nodded. "I do. We both do."
Her wife sighed. "I don't understand how we got here, honey."
"Me neither, Holly, but I'm happy, and we keep talking." Gail kissed her again. "Okay? Don't worry about that."
"I'm going to, you know." Holly was a bit morose. "I'm going to worry that you're happy."
Gail rolled her eyes. "Am I going to have to tell you I'm happy and I love you forever?"
The doctor gave her a resigned impish look. "You might."
"Well. I'm happy. I love you."
Holly kissed her. "It's a start."
Sometimes Vivian felt like she had the most abnormally normal family ever. Her mothers were happily married and had been for most of her life. They were stupidly devoted and successful and they didn't have it all but they had almost all they wanted. They were happy.
Hearing about Chloe and Dov divorcing was a gut blow. They weren't just divorcing, Chloe was moving out. Chris had called Vivian the day after her mothers had mentioned the divorce, asking if she'd heard, and asking if she thought it was a Chris' fault. Why the hell Chris had to ask her shit that was so far outside Vivian's wheel house all the damn time, she would never know.
After talking Chris down, Vivian did the boneheaded move of picking a fight with her girlfriend. About stupid things as well, but that's just how stupid fights were. Vivian didn't have a problem going to Jamie's parents for dinner, and yet she'd taken the shift change offered by Andy, because it meant she'd have more time off with Jamie later... and it happened to mean she'd also be working on dinner night. In her defense, Vivian pointed out she'd also miss a Peck dinner.
Which of course brought up the point that they tended to eat at the Peck/Stewart house a lot. And Jamie argued that no one else was as close with their parents as Vivian and her parents.
Which brought her full circle.
"Would you say you were distracted?" Andy was serious and stern, but a little worried.
"I might have been a little distracted," she muttered.
Andy sighed. "You punched a clown, Peck."
"I did not," seethed Vivian. "I put him in an arm bar until he dropped the stupid squirting flower."
"He says you punched him."
"He's a liar. And I had my camera on. So did Hanford."
Looking up at the ceiling, Andy beseeched a higher power apparently. "His camera didn't work after the liquid sprayed it."
"That was the flower." Vivian gestured with both hands. "It was filled with piss."
Both of Andy's eyebrows jumped. "Excuse me?"
"The flower. It was supposed to squirt water. It squirted piss. Or something that smelled like it. At my partner. I took down the assailant quickly."
"How the hell—"
"I smelled it."
Andy stared at her. "You ... are you fucking kidding me?"
Vivian could probably count all the times Andy swore at work. It was fewer than the Pecks who had died of natural causes. "Ask the lab. I can smell more than most people."
Andy covered her face for a moment. "You have a therapist, right?"
"Yes, ma'am."
"Okay. I'm going to talk to the lab. Schedule an appointment. And I don't want you back here unless he... she ... whatever okays it."
It was to Vivian's best luck that she had an appointment that night anyway. Something had to go right for a change. So she detailed the entire day to her therapist who took her glasses off and sighed deeply.
"Vivian," said Dr. Cooper in a tired voice.
"Oh god, not you too," grumbled Vivian.
"Do you think you might have overreacted?"
Vivian huffed. "Yes."
Dr. Marjorie Cooper startled. "Well that was easy."
"What if it wasn't pee? Lots of things can smell like urine."
The only abnormal gift the world had seen fit to grace Vivian with was a keen sense of smell. It was usually pointless, except in Gail's favored use of 'did this go bad yet?' It was good for checking milk and wine and the like, but that was about the extent. Or so she'd thought. The summer she'd worked in the lab, Vivian's ability to smell had been a boon. Especially after Wanda found out she could smell cyanide. She didn't have a super sniffer, and she couldn't quite tell all the mixed ingredients of food, but she did have the ability to smell more than the normal person and it was amazing with mixed chemicals.
Holly refused to let anyone make young Vivian be a guinea pig, though, and experiments with her sniffer were cut short. Still. Most of the lab knew they could rely on Officer Peck's field reports of smell. So did Andy, at least now. Holly had texted to let her know Dr. Ames was explaining it to the sergeant.
And now so did Dr. Cooper, who listened to Vivian explain the smell and how she knew it could be a lot of things.
"You're trying to distract yourself from your actual problems," said Dr. Cooper. "Hiding behind a Stewart Babble."
Vivian scowled. "I never should have let you have that session with my mom."
"And yet I'm right."
Slumping in her seat, Vivian nodded reluctantly. "Dazzle them with horseshit isn't working, huh?"
"Nope. So. Why does the divorce bother you? They're not your parents."
It was a fair question. She slumped a little more. Vivian knew why she didn't like it and she was unwilling to say it out loud. "I don't like parents fighting," she said quietly.
Her doctor waited. That was what a good doctor did. A good doctor waited while Vivian pushed the thoughts around in her own head. And if, as usual, it took Vivian close to her hour, the doctor would make adjustments. Vivian kept Marjorie around for that skill.
This time it took an arched eyebrow.
"I kind of remember my birth parents fighting," she said slowly. "I mean, that's pretty much all I remember about them. But I remember them screaming about not caring, or .. um. Supporting. Not that they said that. He'd say she didn't respect him, and she'd shout he was never there for her and then—"
Vivian stopped.
Because she remembered the sound.
She always remembered the sound.
Certain sounds stuck with her, familiar and weird. The way Gail or Holly slapped each other's butts had a sound that was creepy and adorable but she knew it from a million miles away. She could recognize the sound of Jamie waking up. She knew the sound of Gail having a nightmare, and while she wished she didn't, Vivian knew the sound of Gail post nightmare getting up and going to process on her own.
And there, in the back of her head, was the sound of parents screaming and then her father... Well. She presumed her father hitting. The autopsy reports, which she had finally read, didn't show any physical injuries on either of her parents at the time of death. Besides the gunshots, obviously.
"We talk around this a lot," said Dr. Cooper. "And there's nothing wrong with not being able to talk about those things." When Vivian arched her eyebrows, Marjorie smiled. "You don't have to be able to talk about them, Vivian. Past trauma doesn't magically vanish because you talk about it."
"I know," she replied, mumbling. "Neither does avoiding."
"It's not about erasure, it's about coping. Are you able to live and survive and move forward, without letting them hurt you and your loved ones."
Vivian winced. "Touché." She was failing at that right now. "I don't really want to tell Jamie, or anyone, that I'm tense about my friends' divorce because shouting parents make me think about my birth parents."
"How do you propose to avoid repeating the same self destructive patterns, then?"
She glared at her doctor. "You're fucking annoying, you know that right?"
"That's why you pay me."
"I don't know how to talk about it."
"What are you afraid of?"
"I only have an hour session today," Vivian said dryly. Her doctor waited. "I'm ... I'm afraid I'm going to screw up like I did last year."
"And why did you do that?"
It was a leading question. They both knew why. "By not telling her what I was feeling."
"And what are you feeling now?"
Vivian slouched impossibly lower. She was incredibly uncomfortable physically, as well as mentally. How much she hated this part of therapy. It was so hard and painful to open up and say what she felt to anyone, even her doctor who was super safe. Taking a deep breath, Vivian dug deep.
"I'm ... I'm afraid of being ... them. I was already an asshole when we fought last year, and god, I hang on to angry so, so long. And I don't want to lash out at her. Or anyone! But today, that guy, the stupid clown, and I grabbed him and ... God, yes, I was angry at him, and scared and I reacted without thinking first, which I do. I know I do. I do it when I rush into help people. I jump. And I... I'm afraid I'm going to jump and say something I don't really mean because I'm scared and hurting and remembering being five and terrified and ... what if I'm them?"
Vivian felt immediately exhausted. Drained. Empty. She slid to the side and rested on the arm of the couch, breathing deeply.
"There's no correlation for a genetic predisposition to abusive relationships, Vivian."
"I know." She smashed her face into the arm of the couch.
"Do you think they communicated?" Marjorie didn't need to say who. She meant Vivian's birth parents.
"No."
"So perhaps step one is communicating with Jamie. Or your mothers."
"God, not my Moms," she groaned and leaned back so she could talk. "They'd tell me it was okay... they can be so. God, I love them so much, but they are too supportive sometimes. They're amazing, but they just let me be me and it's okay and it's like I'm normal and I'm not."
"You wish they'd said you weren't normal?"
"No. Yes." Vivian paused. "Actually Gail did once. She said I wasn't normal, but it was the shit I went through. I was handling abnormal as normally as possible."
Dr. Cooper nodded. "You have had a unique life."
"That's me, unique shit central."
"It sounds like you're ruling out your mothers."
Vivian sighed deeply. "Yeah."
"Whom do you feel you should talk to? Besides me."
"Spoilsport." Vivian closed her eyes. "Jamie or Matty." She paused. "Jamie."
When she got home, no one was there. That was normal. Christian was out at the gym practicing his MMA shit, and Jamie had her last night on shift. Feeling desperately not hungry, Vivian toppled face first onto bed and groaned.
Therapy sessions always left her feeling drained. Speaking the thoughts she dreaded brought the elephant out of the closet and dropped it on her chest to smother her. Her reality was that she was messed up, but she'd been through weird shit. Normally abnormal.
One of the ideas her therapist had was for her to write up her feelings, but that felt worse than just talking. Vivian grimaced and pressed her hands to her head. Writing was so much more permanent than talking. Except it wasn't. Especially if Gail was around. Gail had that stupid annoying habit of memorizing what people said. On accident, Gail swore, but she did it. And if someone was snarky or rude, Gail would repeat their words right back at them.
Vivian had seen it happen with Holly twice, and both times Holly glared at Gail until the blonde apologized.
It really was accidental.
If Vivian wrote down her feelings, Jamie might do the same thing.
Vivian grimaced and picked up her phone, typing in a text to Jamie.
You won't be my mom, right?
She didn't press send. Vivian dropped the phone onto the bed and curled up diagonally. Was that a real fear? Was Vivian really afraid of her girlfriend pulling a Gail? As much as she adored Gail, the woman was petty and snide still. Holly was the sweet and polite one. Gail spoke her mind, regardless of how harsh it could feel.
Why would that be something to be afraid of? Vivian loved Gail. She adored the prickly woman who taught her video games and watched sports even if she hated them. Gail came to plays and speeches and games and a million other things. So what if Gail was blunt. Wasn't that a good thing? She never let things fester.
Oh.
Vivian was.
She festered and dwelled.
Vivian deleted the message off her phone and closed her eyes. Talk to Jamie tomorrow when she got back. She had to. Because stupid Dr. Marjorie Cooper was right. Communication was the only way to not be her birth family.
As she walked into Fifteen from the parking lot, Holly was surprised to see a familiar truck pulled up by the entrance. Vivian was leaning into the driver's window, saying something. Then there was an obvious kiss and Vivian waved as Jamie's truck drove off.
"You kiss your girl before work?" Holly grinned at Vivian.
"Better than kissing her in interrogation rooms." The younger woman smiled. "Prude."
Holly rolled her eyes. "I recall you're the one who called it icky."
"Gail's pretty gross."
"She is remarkably cavalier with sanitization for someone who hates airplanes and hospitals as much as she does." Holly smiled and looped her arm through Vivian's. "I hear you took down a clown."
Vivian groaned. "Please tell me the chemicals in his flower were toxic."
"Ammonia and bleach, so yes. You probably saved Abercrombie's life. Or at least his eyes."
"Go me," said Vivian weakly. "Well good. Andy will let me back on patrol." But she didn't try to disengage or wriggle away from Holly. Interesting.
"Gail said you didn't even get suspended."
"Nah, just a head check. Dr. Cooper had some things to say."
"Good things?"
Vivian glanced back at where Jamie drove out. "I think so, yeah. I gotta change for Parade," she added as they swiped their badges to get in. "Mom here?"
"I sure hope so, I have results for her."
"Oh lucky Mom." Vivian squeezed her and trotted off to the locker rooms. Bouncing.
Andy's voice behind her startled Holly a little. "That's weird. It's weird, right? Your kid is never perky."
"It's a bit novel," admitted Holly. "It was bleach and ammonia."
"Oh, good. I need her on patrol. Goff is terrified of her right now." Andy sighed. "Anything else I should know?"
"Not that I can say."
Andy eyed her. "You're being cryptic. You're here. You have something and Gail is either going to be insufferably annoying or throw my schedule into disarray. Which one?"
After all these years, Andy was quite clever. Even Holly fell to Gail's perceptions of everyone. Andy was simple, Traci was clever but naive about policing, Dov was desperate, Chloe actually was that sure of herself, Chris...
That had been a while. Not that Holly didn't miss Chris Diaz, but he'd been a part of her life only a few years. Maybe now, when the old new guard from Fifteen was such a mark on her life, maybe now she'd feel differently about a death. If it was Andy tomorrow, Holly would miss the woman who showed up to train for the marathons they'd used to run. If it was Dov, the silly guy who played trivia and made beer would be gone. Traci was like a sister she never knew she wanted. And Chloe ... well Chloe was her friend for real now. They talked a lot more now.
Nick though, Nick belonged to Gail. He just was hers. They had a relationship that Holly stopped being jealous of years ago, but it had been so hard. They loved each other deeply, even if those were words Gail would never use to describe her deal with Nick. But she did. He was like Steve in many ways for Gail. And yet Nick, not being a Peck, was free of the damage Steve and Gail tended to reopen within each other.
Pushing that aside, Holly smiled at the police sergeant. "Plans in disarray. She's probably going to need some feet on the ground today or tomorrow."
"Ask her for tomorrow, please. I want Hanford and Peck dialed in again as partners. Always takes them a day to sort it out."
"You mean a day for Vivian to stop threatening him?"
"And a day for Rich to stop being a moron. Better than Goff, though. He keeps trying to ask her out in his stupider moments, and then panics because he remembers she could behead him. I've got afternoon Parade. See you later?"
"I'll come by before I leave. I wanted to talk to you about transitioning Pete to be the main contact for Divisions."
"Wow. You really are retiring." Andy looked despondent.
"I'm slowing down, Andy, not stopping." Holly smiled and gave Andy a quick hug before taking the stairs up.
Her wife was sitting on the desk of the floor secretary. The poor young man, a non uniformed officer who had shattered his knee in a horrific accident, seemed used to Gail's interference with his work. He may also have just felt appreciative that Gail found him the position. Gail used to have a normal civilian secretary, but eventually decided the job needed someone who not only knew that work but knew cops as well.
"Honestly, Inspector Peck," said Holly in a slow drawl. "Are you spying on me?"
"Just your parking pass," Gail replied, off handedly. "I get texted when your car enters the lot."
The sad thing was, Holly could believe that. She rolled her eyes at Gail. "Peck."
"Stewart." They shared a smirk. "Who do you need?"
"You, actually, need me. I have some results for you." Holly raised her shoulder bag slightly. "The courier was ... indisposed."
"Oh!" Gail perked up, nearly laughed, and hopped off the desk. "Carry on, wayward." She slapped the desk and gestured for Holly to precede her into the third floor bullpens and, beyond that, her office. "Do we need my wonder twins?"
"Not yet. You may want to ... You may want to explain it to them yourself."
"Ominous. I like it." Gail practically skipped and opened her office door. "Apres vous."
Carefully, Holly let her hand brush Gail's as she walked in, a moment of reassurance, and made herself comfortable on the couch. "I have a hit on the prints."
"Oh my god!" Gail closed the door and leaned against it. "Louise?"
"Louise. But it's a little weirder than that. It hit a really old case. From when you were in the academy."
Gail looked miffed. "That does not make it really old!"
In a case where they were working with Nazis, Gail had a point. "Louise Hoffman, aka Louisa Garcia, aka Lena Marx. Lena was arrested at sixteen by Superintendent Elaine Peck. For a B&E at an warehouse once owned by Ernst Hoffman. The prints are protected in the system."
Her wife winced. "A minor. That makes sense." Then Gail paused. "Hang on, how'd you get in without a warrant?"
"We still had the paper ones in our files."
"Don't you need special access to open those files?"
"I do. And thanks to the Haan case, I still have it."
Gail narrowed her eyes. "Did you break the law?"
"Oh hush, I cleared it with the lawyers first. It's a grey area since the person who should review it to give permission is me. So we asked. I wasn't allowed to make a copy, or bring the current prints in for a compare."
Blue eyes sharpened and sparkled. "You memorized her fingerprints to get a visual match, so I could get a warrant?"
Holly knew that face. Gail was equally delighted and turned on. She really did love seeing Holly be a genius. "If you can reopen the cold case, you won't need a warrant."
"My mother's old cold case?" Gail's expression shifted and she looked like she'd bitten a lemon.
Never once had Gail and Elaine really worked on a case together. They'd talked about cases, they'd shared insights, but there had never really been an overlap of cases in their active careers. Not an unsolved one.
"Gail," she said, exasperated a little.
"No, no, you're right." Gail pushed her hands through her hair and then rested them on her hips, her chin dropping to her chest as she frowned. The motion made her coat flare a little, flashing her badge and gun.
Even though Gail had always been a cop, as long as Holly had known her, there were moments like that when Gail just stood like a cop. There was a certain level of power and grace that Gail only possessed in cop mode. She was, simply, a being beyond her normal ken. She was Gail Peck, Police Inspector. Gail Peck, detective. Gail Peck, hero.
People looked up to Gail. That pose, that posture was someone who could be depended upon and replied upon. She was steady, reliable, dependable. Even there, with her deep thought pose and her head down and her eyes half closed. Gail was clearly processing the idea of working with her mother.
"I'm really glad my parents never had overlap with my work," said Holly quietly.
"I wouldn't have minded working with Lily," replied Gail, not looking up. "What's the case number?" Holly read it off her phone and Gail repeated it into her watch, casting the files onto her wall.
She was such a damn show off.
Except that expensive wall really helped Gail visualize and explain her cases.
The case was still sealed. Gail probably had the authority to open it without asking anyone else. And she let the closed folder sit on the screen for a while. An uncomfortably long while.
Holly knew Gail well enough to read her mood.
"What's wrong with Elaine?"
Gail gnawed her lower lip, clearly unwilling to say anything. But then she spoke. "I think her memory is going."
Surprised, Holly felt her eyebrows jump. "Oh." She frowned and studied Gail's face. "Well... Why?"
The blonde shook her head. "A lot of weird little things. Elaine doesn't forget things, Holly. Never. She remembers every single stupid thing I've ever done, she knows my life backwards and forwards. And she forgot why I hate the Archer. For our anniversary."
"Gail... that was two years ago," pointed out Holly. She remembered the conversation about the Archer and likely always would. "One incident two years ago is nothing."
"She forgot the name of one of Steve's best friends, confused him with the guy he threw a rock at."
"That ... When?"
"After John's wedding. I've been keeping track. She forgets little things. Like your lunch?"
That was true. Holly had waited half an hour before calling to ask Elaine if she was on her way for their standing lunch date, only to have the woman sound shocked and apologize for forgetting. "I've missed them before too, Gail."
"You have a job and a history of getting bogged down in shit you love. I'm just saying, if it was anyone else I wouldn't worry. It's Elaine Peck. It's weird and I don't like it. And now I have a case with her and what if she forgets things? Then I gotta reopen it and kick her off it and ... god. Do you have any idea how much a public debacle it'll be? This'll be on the news, Holly."
The first thought she had was that Gail was exaggerating. Except... Elaine had come to a ribbon cutting ceremony four years prior and it was on the news. Her heart attack made the news. Elaine was actually a local VIP and, yes, this case could blow up in their faces.
"Well. We can keep in quiet."
Gail nodded, grim faced. "I plan on it. She stops by here often enough, thank god, but I'm going to do this one at home. I can't... Holly, I can't embarrass her. Not here."
How far had Gail come, realized Holly abruptly. She'd barely spoken of her mother except in the most derisive tones when Holly and Gail had met. There had been a time they didn't speak at all. They had rarely seemed to be overly concerned with each other's feelings even in the best times. And now Gail was worried about protecting Elaine's reputation for Elaine's sake and nothing more.
"Anything I can do, honey," said Holly seriously. "Anything."
And she meant it.
Opening the garage door, Gail gestured for Elaine to precede her inside. "I'm set up in the office," she said, and locked up as they went inside.
"All the mystery," said Elaine, amused. "I feel like I'm thirty again, working on that human smuggling case with your father."
Gail had been a baby at the time. Not a memory she could check. "Before my time," she remarked. "Was that a mystery?"
"It was mostly handled behind closed doors. We didn't want a child smuggling ring to break the news of what happened to the Chilton's missing daughter." Elaine sighed. "Of course. That had nothing to do with her disappearance in the end. She was your age." Elaine tilted her head and fell silent.
Filling the silence, Gail confessed, "I always hated when a case reminded me of Vivian. When she was younger. I had days where I'd come home and want to hold her."
Elaine exhaled loudly. "With Vivian that would be a difficult situation."
"Bit. Yeah." Gail walked to the stairs and hesitated. Did she go first as if she was confident Elaine's health would let her ascend the stairs with ease, or did she let Elaine go first and keep careful watch.
Thankfully Elaine made the decision. "I'm slow as hell going up stairs, Gail. Go on. I'll catch up."
"I'm crap at this, Mom."
"Two heart attacks," grumbled Elaine. "Two. They took that vein out of my leg and now I have a hell of a time with stairs. It's an old case."
Smiling, Gail started up the stairs. "So speaking of old cases, there's a cold one of yours that popped up."
"Oh that's all the secrecy? A cold case?"
"A cold case that has ties to an international one I'm working on." The footsteps behind her stopped and Gail turned to see her mother, surprised, staring at her. "That's why the secrecy. I'll explain."
By the time Elaine was ensconced on the couch (her choice), Gail had explained the mysterious and convoluted case of stolen art and identities. She'd written up, not in the clear and precise handwriting the Pecks had demanded she learn but on her laptop, the flowchart of the case and crimes on the wall. Back in her early days as a detective, Gail had used butcher paper. Them she'd used a cork board. Now she had a set up from Vivian that projected her screen onto the back wall.
Elaine looked up at the wall. "Seymour Hoffman died and had his identity stolen, as did his children. One was secreted away, his identity stolen and thrown away to protect him. One died and had his identity stolen to create invisible grandchildren. All for a painting that's really not that impressive."
Gail smirked. "Not exactly the summary I'll use in court, but yes."
"And I am involved ... how?"
"Well. You arrested Louise once. Under the alias Lena Marx. At least we think so. It's a cold case with a minor involved."
"Ah. And if I agree to reopen it, for the head of Organized Crime, then we don't need to produce a warrant. Except you needed permission to tell me?" Elaine raised her eyebrows at Gail, amused. "Or are we back to playing Pecks?"
"I actually got a hold of the Crowne's office. They don't see you as a risk. And the big building trusts you."
Snorting, Elaine looked back at the wall. "You have my permission— Oh ho ho, I see. Inspector Peck, I'd like to reopen my case on Lena Marx."
Gail smirked. There they were. "I have a request form for you, Former Superintendent Peck." She picked up her tablet and handed it over.
"The future is so odd," said Elaine and she read the form. "Very limited request. Are we not going to investigate the Hoffmans?"
"I don't need you for that. Since I've got their painting, it follows. But a kid with a closed file?"
"Yes. It makes me wonder, though, Gail. How exactly did you know Lena was Louise?"
"The chief ME voiced her beliefs," said Gail, intentionally vaguely.
Her mother was no dummy. "You have a print. It pinged a possible match on a locked file. Dr. Stewart... Did she find the old physical copy?" When Gail nodded, Elaine laughed. "A visual confirmation. She doesn't have your memory, Gail."
"She does for science," Gail said firmly.
Elaine made an amused noise. "Here." She handed the tablet back. "Signature and thumb print added."
"Press submit, it'll ask for your passcode."
"Heavens. The layers."
"Oh just wait." She watched her mother tap in a code and then they waited. Elaine's phone rang nearly immediately. "It's the front office," explained Gail as Elaine answered, gave a verbal confirmation as to the request, and then handed the phone to Gail. "Inspector Peck."
"I did not think you'd pull that off," said Staff Inspector Dodge.
"Ye of little faith," drawled Gail. "Go or no go?"
"Go. And good luck. I have the warrant Nuñez drafted."
"Thanks, Dodge." Gail hung up and put the phone down in front of Elaine. "Tell me about the case."
"You don't want to read it first?"
"I read the public notes." Perching on the edge of her desk, Gail gripped her hands on the rim. This was it. This was Gail testing her mother's memory so she could see how valid any further views might be. It made her feel sick. "How did you find Lena?"
Elaine studied Gail's face for a moment. Whatever she saw in Gail's expression, it prompted Elaine to lean back in the couch. "That was not my last case as Inspector," she said carefully. "I had the Cristiano killings the week after. But the warehouse had been under surveillance by ... I believe Oliver and Frank. They were quite bored waiting for your class to graduate," she noted.
Nodding, Gail was relieved. So far, so good. "Why was it under surveillance?"
"It was an abandoned warehouse along the edges of Anton Hill's territory, where Swarek was undercover."
God that was a long time ago. "Had Swarek tipped you off to it?"
"No, but I made a habit of keeping tabs on his general whereabouts. Unlike some of my successors," muttered Elaine. She was still peeved Sam's cover had been blown, as Dispatch should have warned Andy. Gail didn't think it was Andy's fault, but was cheerfully inclined to give the now-sergeant shit about it.
"Officers Shaw and Best were a little experienced to be set on that job."
"We were grooming Frank for sergeant," explained Elaine. "And Oliver, though he'd not shown any impetus of direction at the time." Elaine shook her head. "They spotted an individual accessing the building but did not follow."
"Why not?"
"They were under clear orders not to intervene. I was under the impression that Swarek might arrive and didn't want to blow his cover. Oliver was always so excited to see his friends."
It was interesting how her mother called people she liked by their first names. Told Gail a lot about Sam Swarek. "He is," she agreed. "Was the individual Lena?"
"Based on their descriptions, I believe so, yes. She came back a few times, entering and leaving alone. Finally, she was spotted by ... Officer Barber, I believe, with a burgling kit."
Years of schooling by Pecks and her mother helped Gail keep a straight face.
At the time of the incident, Jerry Barber, a detective of a few years, was teaching a class at the academy and boning Traci. Gail had known about the sex as she'd spent most of her free time spying covertly on her classmates. She was a Peck after all. But there was no way 'Officer' Barber had seen that. It was Officer Williams. It was the queen of nightsticks. Noelle.
"Burgling kit?" That was all Gail said, pushing amusement in her voice.
"Hush," muttered Elaine. "A leather rolled up kit."
"I see." Gail smirked.
"Officer Williams followed her in after a particularly loud crash. I believe her excuse was she didn't want the child to die." The change of name from Barber to Williams made Gail feel nauseated. Williams was correct, it had been Noelle and Salvador watching the warehouse that day.
Gail had checked. There was no relation between Hoffman and Hill, thank god. It was just a building. But why had Louise been sneaking around? "So if Noelle went in, why is the arrest under your name?"
"I filed her, Lena, at the station. I forgot why." Elaine looked perplexed for a moment. "She refused to tell us anything helpful. Why she was there, what she was breaking into. She wouldn't say anything. We printed her, took her name, dropped her in the system." Elaine frowned. "I'm afraid it's rather dull."
Her laptop beeped and Gail turned it to regard the message. "Prints are her. Holly's having the lab run a DNA check on her."
"That was fast."
It should have been faster, frankly, but the lab was probably backed up. "Science. It works."
"I wish it had worked as well in my day. We never found out why Hill had the place."
Gail brought up the lab results from the trace evidence found at the warehouse. They never got a warrant so it had been impossible to investigate further. Her mind wasn't on the case, as Gail wondered now what. It was clear enough to her that her mother's memory was slipping. But was it just to be expected for a woman of her age? Impossible to tell really.
Maybe she could ask Elaine to get herself checked out. There were scans done now that could detect the subtleties of brain damage like that. It felt so galling to say, though, to seriously consider asking her mother if she thought her memory was going.
Instead, Gail asked a nagging question.
"Why didn't you hand the case off?"
"To whom? We were desperately short well heeled inspectors. And it had been my case as Inspector so it logically followed me. I did leave them with a great deal of leeway."
That was true. "The odds are Lena is a dead end for your case," admitted Gail.
"I suspected as much. And seeing as Hill is dead and you dismantled his gang, I have no doubt the mystery of what he was hiding there will never be resolved."
Gail sighed and looked at the wall. She absently tapped up the list of trace found on Lena's (Louise's) person, skimming them in her tablet. Why did she know those chemicals. Probably too many years of living with Holly. Not that it was a bad thing, of course, but she did know a lot about chemistry and science.
"Fentanyl," Gail said abruptly.
"Excuse me?"
"When we took down the Hill Gang, they were running weed laced with Fentanyl. Weird as shit mix. And that chemical structure? Fentanyl. I'll prove it." Gail hopped down and went to the shelves, pulling out Holly's big book of prescription drugs. It was a few years out of date, but it would have this. Flipping to the right page, Gail beamed. "Here." She handed the book and the tablet to her mother.
Silent, Elaine read the formula and then studied the information on the tablet. She looked back and forth a few times and put the book down. "I believe you are correct. This ... based on the timing, this would be the beginning of the operation."
"Probably, yeah." Gail laughed. "Check it out, Mom. We solved two crimes."
"Oh and you know what Louise Hoffman wanted?"
Grinning unpleasantly, Gail did. Something hidden, obviously. Something secreted away. And it was probably still there. A fucking clue to the paintings. "I do. And so do you."
But Elaine looked at her, confused. "I'm ... I don't." Fear. Fear crept into Elaine's eyes.
Fuck.
Gail swallowed. Had Elaine lost the thread of the case? It was convoluted and insane but that had never stopped her before. Elaine Peck was smart, she followed threads, she grabbed onto ideas and concepts and she could hold multiple realities in her head until one was proven serious.
And now Elaine Peck was forgetting things and losing track of complicated conversation.
"Mom... do you remember why I hate the Archer Hotel?"
Her mother stared at her. "No," she said flatly. Tense. Worried. No. Terrified.
"That's where... The night I was kidnapped..."
And Elaine turned pale, which was an impressive feat for a Peck. "This is not good, Gail."
It really wasn't.
"I hate warehouses," said Rich as they stepped in.
"Can't imagine why." Vivian shone her flashlight around.
"I went to this rave, couple months ago? It was just fucked up. The smoke machine went off and I had to bail. My date thought I was crazy."
Vivian stopped and eyed Rich. She felt a wave of guilt. "You want to wait outside?"
"No." He sounded like the no was a yes. Rich shook his head. "Yes. But I'm your partner."
"We all have our own shit, Rich." Trusting Rich to know himself, Vivian stepped deeper into the warehouse. "Hey, try the lights?"
The sound of clicking echoed. No lights. Figured.
"What are we looking for?"
"A cache," she replied, giving it the French pronunciation. "A hidey hole where someone might hide a safe."
Her partner made a thoughtful sound and Vivian swept her light around the room. Noelle had said she'd cuffed the kid on the southeast corner, but that could mean nothing. Maybe it would be best to measure the building by paces and compare inside and outside.
"Hey, Peck. Got it." She stared at Rich, who was across the room standing by a sliding panel. "It's like fucking Scooby Doo! I'm Freddy, you're Velma."
"What the hell!?" Vivian hustled over and stared at the fucking safe. "How the hell did you do that!?"
Rich looked surprised. "Safes are big and heavy, right? Either you bolt 'em to the floors or walls, and either way you need a lot of support. Walls sag, floors dip. Even concrete. Especially shit concrete." He gestured down and Vivian saw the curve in the floor. "Shit concrete. Do you even know how to open that?"
It took a moment for Vivian to realize he'd meant the safe. "Yeah, I have the code. I think. But..." Vivian jiggled her head. "Okay, that was smart, Rich."
The boy moron blushed. "I have my moments."
"Well. Let's see if this is the safe," she muttered.
Gail had simply asked Sandy for the code and proceeded to chastise her for storing the paintings in such a stupid place. Apparently Sandy had replied that seeing as it was a fake anyway, it wasn't like it mattered in the first place. Still, Gail had reason to suspect there was more to all of it than just a locked up painting. She had given Vivian instructions to verify it was the same safe and, if so, contact for pickup.
Vivian pulled on gloves and spun the lock. A simple, manual lock was the sort she loved cracking. The dial spun stiffly, though not terribly so. It was untouched for months if not years. Years. She turned and sneezed into her elbow.
"Don't fuck up the evidence," cautioned Rich.
"Bite me." She rubbed her nose on her shoulder and then turned the dial a third time.
No click.
"Wrong combination?"
"Not sure." Vivian jiggled the handle and it made a loud click. "Ah. Just old as fuck. Here we go." She tugged the handle and grunted. "Jesus this is old..." She tugged again and it creaked.
Rich stepped up. "Rusted shut. Should I help?"
"I don't think we have the muscle for it. Maybe Archimedes."
To her surprise, Rich offered, "I could find a stick."
She smiled. "No, I can see enough inside. Shine a light for me?" Rich aimed his flashlight and Vivian squinted. "Empty... Wait. Maybe papers."
"Call it in then," decided Rich. "I can wait outside for them."
Vivian glanced at her partner and saw the nervousness in his posture. He'd probably had enough of being in a room and a building that reminded him of being shot. "Yeah. Go on outside. I'll call."
The rest of her day was spent dealing with evidence which was not as much fun as she'd hoped. The safe was printed and then had to be carefully detached from the floor, which required a call to the fire department and a visit from, of all stations, Four. They remembered Rich as 'the guy who parked his car in the wrong place' and that was indeed beautiful, but it was Jamie's day to be on the second crew so she wasn't on site for the fun.
A few circular saws and a blowtorch and the safe still took hours until it was able to come free. It was another few hours at the evidence lab, and not the fun time either, before they could go back to Fifteen. And worst of all, they had miles of paperwork to finish up. Vivian checked on her break to see if Gail needed anything and was surprised to find out her mother had left for the day.
"Its eight PM," pointed out Mayhew, heading up the night shift for Major Crimes. It was a promotion of sorts.
"Yeah, I guess."
When Vivian had been young, the nights either mother had stayed late were few and far between. But on those rare occasions that Gail did stay late, it would be on a case like this where she was waiting on evidence or results. Vivian didn't even know if Gail had gotten the news that it was this case.
She texted her mother as she went back to her desk, picking up some tea on the way. Gail replied right away that she'd get into it in the morning. That felt odd. The whole case felt odd.
Obviously Sandy left the safe because it was too tough to move. Louise had tracked the Hoffman name to find the location, investigated the site, found the safe, and assumed the painting was inside. That was an unknown. The lab had swabbed and sampled the inside of the safe and, hopefully, something would come up to connect the painting case to the safe. But, to the best of Vivian's knowledge, Sandy refused to say if it had or hadn't been there at the time.
"Peck!" Rich waved a hand. "Jesus, you were off in your head. Wanna get food?"
Vivian was about to say no when her stomach growled. "Apparently yes. God. When are we on tomorrow?"
It was a rhetorical question. They both knew they had to be back for early Parade.
"Late enough we can have a beer."
"Fuck beer. I want a milkshake. Come on." Vivian saved and filed her report. "We can walk there. Meet me at admit in ten."
As Rich walked to the mens' locker room, he shouted, "This isn't a date Peck!"
"You complete me, Hanford!"
The restaurant was one she didn't frequent often. It was special to Fifteen for multiple reasons. The night Olivia was born, Frank and Oliver had snuck out to get burgers and fries for Noelle from there. The night Gail had hacked off all her hair, Andy and Dov had been held hostage there. The night Sam made sergeant, Chloe and Frankie had gone on some weird bonding moment.
Once before, Vivian had taken Lara for a dinner there. Back when they were still the baby rookies. Here, now, Vivian was the age Gail was when she'd met Holly. She didn't feel like as much of an adult as that implied. Then again, as her parents, they were always mature adults who had their shit together. The truth was anything but.
So, by extension, why assume Sandy had her shit together? Interesting. She shelved the thought as they walked into the restaurant.
"Two house burgers, no cheese, one without tomatoes, one big plate of fries, and one Irish milkshake and two glasses," she informed the waitress as they were seated. "And water please."
"Wow, is this how you treat your dates?"
"Sometimes." Vivian smiled.
"How's that going?"
"Good. It's going good." The conversation paused. "Are you... seeing anyone?"
Rich laughed. "Man you are still shitty at that."
She rolled her eyes. "Shut up."
"It's like you were raised by wolves, which having met your Moms, I get and I don't get. I mean, Gail, sure. But the doc is awesome. She's like ... She's good people. I know she taught you manners."
Actually manners were from Gail and Elaine, as it happened. But that was her life, not his. "I was thinking about the safe," Vivian deflected.
"Oh hey, yeah. You have all the secret intel?"
Vivian smiled, wanly. "Not really. Just ... I'm trying to make sense of why the hell someone would hide a painting like that."
Rich sniffed, disdainfully. "I thought it was pretty boring. The painting I mean."
"Beauty is in the eye of the beholder," Vivian pointed out. "But. It's a pretty boring painting." Rich laughed and they both paused conversation as the shake arrived. Without explaining, Vivian poured the shake into two glasses and pushed one to Rich, along with a straw.
"You're lucky I trust you." He took a sip and coughed. "Holy shit!"
Grinning ear to ear, Vivian took a long draw. "You can't have a whole one and drive home safely."
"This is good! You take your girl here?"
"Nah, it's a cop thing." She closed her eyes and took another long sip of the alcoholic Irish milkshake.
They sipped in silence until the burgers and fries showed up. "I'm disappointed the whole meal isn't alcoholic," said Rich in a stage whisper. "Okay, gimme your idea about the painting. You're an art lover, right?"
Vivian blinked. "Kind of. I like ... god you're going to laugh."
Rich raised his hand. "Scout's honor."
She eyed him. The reality was Vivian did like art. She loved statues. Painting was something she understood how to do. She'd even done it a little in school. While the ability to paint something she only saw in her mind was beyond her, Vivian did have the talent to sketch and paint what she was seeing and what she remembered. Thank you, Pia.
But statues, carving out of stone blew her mind. Even though she knew damn well they had models and plaster and clay that served as blueprint to carve from, they still took a block of stone and carved something out of it. Taking away all of the parts that weren't their vision...
She'd watched a sculptor once and been fascinated. It was a behind the scenes tour that Elaine had arranged for her own birthday. There was a painting being restored (they practically had to drag Holly away) and some works that hadn't been put up yet (Elaine was enraptured with those). Then Vivian saw the sculpture and she just gaped. Gail had let her stay until near the end of the tour, apparently recognizing adoration when she saw it.
Being fascinated with something she was incapable of doing was, at once, inspiring and humbling. It had given her a peculiar understanding of the world and her place within. Vivian would never be all things to everyone. She could be all things to herself, though, and it was okay to be her imperfect self. She was able to do somethings no one else could. There was never anyone else who would be Vivian.
"Okay. Art is the creation of something unique, from the depths of your mind. You see a thing, a ... an image no one else has seen before, and you craft it. Words, painting, sculptures. Dance."
Rich grinned at her and nodded. "Art is creation, transient or lasting. Sure."
"So if you're an art lover, or a patron, you revere art to some extent."
And Rich looked enlightened. "Oh. So if you love art, a painting, why store it in a dank ass warehouse without climate control?"
"Exactly."
"I got it. That's easy. The painting was never there. She was using it as a trap to draw out the thief."
"Very movie spectacular of you," said Vivian dryly. "She didn't know about the family still being alive."
"You ever break the law?"
Vivian blinked. "Not really, no."
"Do anything you didn't want your parents to catch you at?" When she shook her head, Rich nodded. "Right. I did. Stole a candy bar. I swear for weeks I was sure someone was following me."
"A candy bar?"
"I was seven and my folks are health food freaks. Anyway, every time we went back to that store, I would sweat. Guilt is a freaky thing." He nodded to punctuate his statement.
He did have a point though. Guilt pushed people to do stupid things. Maybe the shadow, the specter of guilt prompted Sandy to lay traps.
There was a sudden snore and Holly looked down at the blonde head. Gail had finally fallen asleep. It had been a long day with doctors and exams and tests. Through it all, Elaine had been a champ and Gail had been dead silent. There wasn't a peep of complaint from either Peck.
They didn't have any immediate results, sadly. The doctor wanted to do some complex blood tests and scan Gail and Steve and Eli as well as Elaine. Gail readily agreed, much to everyone's surprise, and subjected herself to a contrast MRI among other ludicrous tests. Right then and there, Gail went through it to allow the doctors something to compare Elaine's results with. It had taken them hours.
Now, finally, she was passed out on the couch, her head in Holly's lap.
The contrast fluid had not agreed with Gail, Holly had spotted that from the start. Gail was a little dizzy and nauseous within minutes, but she swore it was fine. By the time the scans were done, Gail had a terrible headache and was ready to vomit. They made it home before it hit. Poor Gail had hugged the downstairs toilet for a good half hour before grumbling that medicine could fuck itself.
That left Holly to push fluids, including a protein shake, and get Gail to lie down and rest until her stomach settled. Really she knew she should get Gail to shower and sleep in bed, but the detective insisted on lying on the couch with Holly, so she did the next best thing. One half inning into the Jays' first homestand of the season and Gail was out cold.
"Honey, do you want to go to bed?" Holly gently ran her fingers through Gail's hair.
No response. Holly wasn't shocked. The mental stress plus the asymptotic reaction to a low-allergic medication was bound to wear a person out. Gail's reaction to medication was always idiosyncratic. Pain killers made her prone to nightmares. SSRIs tended not to work at all. No matter what drug, it was like Gail had to go through her own private experimentation before finding the right mixture.
That was why Holly didn't want to disturb her wife just then. If Gail could finally sleep and rest and heal, then things would be better. Still, Holly needed to get up, pee, and get herself some food. She sighed and slipped off the couch, replacing her thigh with a pillow for Gail. Gail did not move. Good.
Stretching felt oh so nice. Sitting still for an hour was hard. Gail tended to do meditation whenever she had to, but Holly just didn't. She didn't sit still, she didn't relax. She always had to do something. Gail sometimes teased her about how she would play with her pens or her hair while sitting 'still.'
Holly sighed and pivoted, cracking her back. God. So much better. As Gail slept on, Holly used the upstairs bathroom and then decided to call Vivian and catch her up.
"Hey, Mom. What's up?" Her daughter sounded happy and someone male was laughing in the background.
"Do you have a minute?"
"Yikes. That sounds serious."
"I need to tell you something serious, as it happens."
There was a brief pause and then Vivian spoke again, sounding less happy but very grown up. It was the same voice she'd used as a child when things had to be serious. "Hang on. Matty, I'll be right back. Jamie, touch my tiles and we're done." Footsteps and then a door closed. "Sorry, we're playing scrabble. What's wrong?"
"Two things. First, Gail had an MRI today and apparently she's allergic to the contrast meds, so she's sick and ... Gail."
Vivian sighed. "Poor Mom. Why did she have an MRI?"
"Because Elaine may be suffering from a neurological disorder."
"The forgetting stuff got worse?" Vivian just sounded resigned.
Why the hell was Holly ever surprised when her kid knew shit like that? "Do I want to know how you knew?"
"Same reason I help keep an eye on Grandpa. Gail's kinda neurotic."
"I may kill her when she wakes up," grumbled Holly.
"Hey. I'm a full grown adult, Mom. You guys are supposed to rely on me."
Holly sighed. "Doesn't Jamie think that's weird?"
"Most people do," admitted Vivian. "Did she have a massive blood draw too?"
"No, just a couple vials."
"Well... if the drugs made her sick, she's gonna have a nightmare."
"I know. And she's going to insist on going to work tomorrow with a hangover."
"Ugh. Okay, I'm on tomorrow anyway. I'll keep an eye on her."
"Thank you, honey." Holly hesitated. "Are you okay?"
"Yeah. I mean, not to be cavalier but I heard I was adopted."
Holly laughed and shook her head. "You are such a pain in the ass, child."
"I love you too, Mom. Does Elaine need anything?"
"Not at the moment."
"She hasn't told Gordo yet, huh?"
"Would you?"
"I live with Jamie, Mom. Yes, I would."
Smiling, Holly leaned on the railing and looked down at Gail. Her wife was still curled up, now hugging the pillow and frowning deeply. "You're a good kid."
"Hey, if Mom looses her marbles, we can tell her all the same jokes and she won't get bored!"
"And now you're an asshole. Goodnight, honey."
"Night Mom. Love you. And Gail."
They hung up and Holly sighed. They had raised a pretty darn good kid. She wasn't perfect, she forgot to do things like call after a work injury, she'd dented the car, thrown a party, and done a hundred other kid things. But she was a good kid.
Holly tapped her phone to see if any results had come in from the labs yet. She didn't expect them for a week, really, to be honest. Maybe more, since they had to identify some specific markers. What she found instead was a high priority report on her work app.
The results were back from the safe. Sandy's safe that Louise had tried to crack. No trace shared, but the prints matched Louise. Or assumed Louise.
So the safe had likely never been used at all. It was a trap. How very weird.
"I can hear you thinking," grumbled Gail from the couch.
"Sorry. I didn't mean to wake you." Holly tucked her phone away. "Are you hungry?"
"Ugh. No." Gail didn't move. "Can you make something not smelly?"
"Sure." Holly paused on her way to the kitchen to kiss Gail's head. "Poor baby."
"Fuck medicine."
"I won't take that personally." Looking at the kitchen, Holly made herself a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, and then grabbed some saltines and a ginger ale for Gail. It was unlikely Gail would want to eat, but her poor wife needed to if she didn't want to feel even worse in the morning.
Gail squinted at the food on the coffee table and groaned. "Not hungry."
"I know."
After a moment, Gail sat up and opened the ginger ale. "I hate throwing up"
"I know."
Then she ate a cracker. "Yankees Jays?"
"Yep."
A comfortable silence reigned, and Gail snuggled up close to Holly to watch sports and nibble saltines. They talked about very little. Yes, Holly had told Vivian. No, Holly didn't think Gail should go to work. Yes, Holly thought Gail should eat something. No, it didn't have to be big. Yes, Holly would make her a sandwich.
As Gail slowly chewed on her own PB&J, Holly's phone beeped. Gail looked up. "Work or the doc?"
"Your safe was devoid of evidence," said Holly, annoyed. "And a report from the kid on the safe itself."
"She's getting good at that. Where's my phone?"
"Charger." Holly stretched and could just reach the end table where Gail's phone was quietly charging. "You're not staying up late."
"Nah, I want to see Vivian's report. She's taken to putting theory and idea in there when explaining why things are done."
"She's guessing?" Holly frowned. Guessing was a bad habit for a scientist. Of course a good scientist trusted their gut, but they didn't ever guess. They predicted based on experience and theory and documentation.
"No, actually it's probability and statistical analysis based on what she knows of the criminals and the objects." Gail looked incredibly proud. "She could be a brilliant detective, but she's going to make whatever she does awesome."
Holly smiled. "Don't forget to tell her that." Gail made a noise and tapped on her phone right away. "I don't wish she was a scientist, you know. She'd have been so bored."
"She wanted to be Indiana Jones for a while," mused Gail.
"Save artifacts, punch Nazis, get the girls." Laughing, Holly turned her attention to the game. The Yankees were winning. Of course. "Damn it. And she's going to win the pool."
Gail was quiet and then asked, "Did you start a mommy/daughter baseball pool with my child?"
"Our child," Holly stressed. "And yes."
"Eh." Gail tossed her phone onto the coffee table and snuggled back up. "She has an interesting idea about the safe, and attributed it to Abercrombie. Which is the least Peck part of her. She's always giving other people their righteous props."
"Where as you stole wins from Dov?"
"Like taking candy from a baby." Gail yawned. "It gave me an idea to find Louise, though."
"Care to tell me?"
"Well. My first run of bait didn't work. Putting it in evidence. So I'm gonna go bigger. More Peck."
Holly eyed the top of her wife's head. She could only guess at what it might be. Well. She'd enjoy finding out at least.
It was the first time Gail had seen Marcel angry.
"It is not yours to decide what you will," he snarled.
"I know that. Except it is. We found it, we recovered it, technically Toronto PD is the shit." She leaned back. "Look, the painting is his."
"He's a prisoner for a bank robbery!"
"He didn't steal anything! A break in without theft is my purview."
Marcel steamed. "You're acting the worst of your name! First all the credit for saving the King goes to you and now this!"
Gail rolled her eyes. "He was the Prince at the time, and yeah, you know what, I did get all the props. Because I was the son of a bitch who was undercover, away from my family, for weeks." She leaned forward, dropping her voice just like her mother did when angry. "I put my life on the line, Savard. I risked everything and found a fucking terrorist cell with my own hands, while you sat in a nice safe office. So don't play this shit with me." Gail snarled at him. "This case is mine. You handed it to me and I'm fucking well keeping it."
Her friend gaped at her, growled a vague 'we shall see' threat, and then stormed out the door.
Slumping in her chair, Gail groaned and covered her face.
"Well. That sounded like it went well," said John, blandly.
"Don't start."
"He doesn't like the idea?"
"He doesn't like me... Us running it."
"Its international. Technically that's Mounties."
Gail glared at him. "I will kick you out, John."
He ignored her and leaned in the doorframe. "Where are we?"
"We are confused." She leaned back and closed her eyes. There were a lot of things going on at once. "We have all the pieces and none of the answers."
"You don't want to tell me what you're thinking?"
With a deep sigh, Gail shook her head. "Not about that. I want to know why the hell Sandy did what she did. I want I know how she made a million aliases and crap to hide behind. I want to know what she was really doing with the painting in the safe."
Her sergeant nodded. "This have anything to do with why you looked like shit this morning?"
"Oh, god no. That's ... I had an idiosyncratic reaction to some totally safe meds." Gail rolled her eyes. "Nothing big."
John didn't seem to believe her. "Well. I'll leave you to think about how you pissed off the nicest Mountie ever."
She let him go.
The issue wasn't why she'd made Marcel upset. Gail understood that well. The problem was that Walter was her prisoner. He'd committed a crime in Toronto only. He remained firmly and clearly under her auspices. Breaking into a bank was, after all, a far lesser crime than stealing something from one.
Marcel wanted to take the case and use it against his theories of international crime.
Gail thought it was wrong, that it was all local.
Right now, Interpol and the FBI agreed with Gail and left the case in her hands, not the Mounties. Of course Marcel was pissed off. If it went the other way, Gail would be livid. But frankly there was no evidence at all that so much as implied the Hoffman siblings were interested in anything but the late, fake, Seymour Hoffman's collection. And those items were, hands down, all in Toronto.
Why that painting at all?
Throwing a gallery of the items in fake-Seymour's collection up onto her wall, Gail stared at it again. The statues were mostly mundane and derivative of greater works. The paintings were far too literal in their attempts at grandiosity. Most of them felt like cheap knockoffs of lesser imitations.
Okay fine, Gail was a snob and didn't like Adriaen van de Velde. Henry van de Velde made some brilliant furniture. Rinus van de Velde had some appallingly dark modern art that left a person feeling like their soul was laid bare for all to see. But Willem (elder and younger) van de Velde and Adriaen did landscapes and seascapes and animals and they weren't bad necessarily, they were just boring.
They reminded her of Bob Ross.
Bob Ross was an amazingly prolific painter, but it was easy to spot his work right away. He had a style and he stuck with it. Gail could spot a Bob Ross Tree from a thousand yards. Stupid happy little trees. She may have harbored some resentment at not being able to paint anywhere nearly as nicely as he did. Certainly not consistently.
The magic of Bob Ross wasn't the finished product, however, it was the process. He introduced millions of people to the very idea of Art. Capital A. The basics of color theory were discarded for simple examples. He demonstrated and explained and taught in thirty minute sessions, and for many people it was more productive than any art class might have been.
Beyond giving people basic skills to create art, Bob Ross pulled back the curtain and let them understand art. He let them feel. The shape of a mountain and the sweep of the snow were obvious, but when he talked about how maybe this cabin was abandoned, or maybe they'd gone fishing, people started to see the story. Art was so much more than just the finished work, it was the art of a vision becoming reality.
The problem with landscapes, and even amazing technical work like van de Velde, was that it wasn't special. It was a day like any other. It could have been by anyone, it didn't showcase any specific meaning or technique. It was ... average. Most classical paintings suffered from that. They were what they were, and there was little to interpret.
Exceptions jumped out. The Mona Lisa. There was something about that smile that made a person wonder. American Gothic, again, told a story in the moment. Seurat's work with pointillism was intense. Monet's style in water lilies and Van Gogh's bold lines could tear at one's heart strings. Picasso, for god's sake.
The point was all those things made a person feel.
Landscapes were, often, just landscapes. They were beautiful and amazingly done, but they didn't often evoke a strong feel. Not in Gail at least. On the other hand, she really wasn't a fan of the big block of colors that people liked to slap up and call art. She liked it when art screamed one answer at the world and then quietly whispered another in the wind.
That meant van de Velde and Leistikow were much the same to her. Meaningless and boring. And it didn't matter which one she found. The Leistikow was just a peculiar red herring in all of it at this point.
Sandy Paretti had said she couldn't see an Armstrong marrying someone who didn't appreciate the finer things. So why the fuck would Sandy steal a painting as basic and mundane as a van de Velde? Did she see something in it that Gail was missing?
She grimaced and isolated the one painting in question, making it fill the entire wall.
Why this painting? It felt like she'd have the answer to so many things about Sandy if she could answer that. It was so much easier to understand the Hoffman children. They wanted their family collection back. As daft as it was, it was theirs. Gail felt much the same way about the small art collection she'd inherited. While she'd sold off most of it and donated the rest to collections, there was something about it that made her think it was hers.
"What if the painting doesn't mean anything," mused Gail, and she picked up a pencil to throw it at the picture of her mother. It bounced off photo-Elaine's cheek.
What if, like Gail, Sandy's relationship with the Armstrongs was fraught with pain and drama and self-loathing. No, what if Sandy felt like Bill had about the rich snobs. Certainly Pecks weren't poor, but the Armstrong wealth well eclipsed that which Gail would ever hope to inherit from her pedestrian blue blood family. Not that Gail wanted the money. She already had more than she needed. She had never carried much debt at all, opting to live in her means. Holly had student loans when they'd met, but with Gail helping to pay off the townhouse, that was all sorted out before they'd married.
But money wasn't Gail's motivator. It wasn't Bill's or Steve's or even Elaine's. It was Eli's though, and he was way more representative of the Armstrongs than Elaine was. So if Gail extrapolated that and assumed that most of the people named Armstrong were snobs, and the Fairchilds married into that, then it stood to reason that beyond just being a giant shitbag, Tristan was a money snob as well.
Okay. So back to Sandy. If she stole a shitty painting and it wasn't for money, was it then for revenge on the family who looked on her with disdain? The poor girl who got knocked up would be a target for those idiots.
Gail blinked and pulled up the data she'd accumulated on Tristan. The man liked fast, shiny, penis cars. He wore expensive suits. He ate at pricey restaurants. He had some gaudy art. Seriously? Cherubs? Ugh.
She got out of her chair and picked up the pen, stabbing it into the picture above her mother's photograph heart. It was really easy to hate the Armstrongs as much as she hated the Pecks. But Gail bore her name and her disturbing likeness to her great-grandmother like a badge of honor. She would stand, bloody and bruised, among the wreckage of her lineage, proving her ultimate worth and value.
Sandy couldn't do that. Sandy had no heirs and no story. She was a forgotten relic, thrown away and ignored, masked by god knew how many idiots denying her truth. The story they told was good, though. There was just a man and a wife and a divorce. But when you knew the rest, that there was a man and a wife and a mistress and a divorce with a payoff... did Sandy feel shortchanged?
"Uh oh, that's deep thought face," said Holly as she let herself in. "Why'd you stab Elaine today?"
"If she'd never apologized to us about the visa thing, would you have forgiven her?"
Holly didn't answer right away. "No, probably not."
"Would you ... Would you demand revenge?"
Her wife snorted. "Demand? How dramatic of you." Gail turned and looked at the brunette. As she'd expected, Holly wore a look of abject disdain and quiet amusement. "Are you asking me if I could hate her? Yes. Quite easily."
"What about the Pecks?"
Holly arched her eyebrows. "Oh I hate them right now, honey. I've hated them for decades for how they treated you and Steve. Making him think he was average and you that you're broken? Ugh." A rare look of true anger crossed Holly's face. "And before you ask, I hate Vivian's birth family too."
She laughed. Gail could only laugh and shake her head at the honesty. "Holly. You are the only person I know who saves up all her angry for righteousness."
"I also hate how you put away the dishes," said Holly perfunctorily. "And you need to eat lunch."
Only then did Gail notice the takeout on her desk. "You didn't have to do that," said Gail softly.
"I know, but you were sick last night and I wanted you to take the day off." Holly walked around the desk and into Gail's personal space. Instinctively, or maybe as a reaction, Gail put her hands on Holly's waist, drawing her a little closer. Holly smiled and smoothed Gail's lapels down before kissing her. "Hi," said Holly quietly.
"Hi," replied Gail, closing her eyes.
"You made Marcel upset."
"Hmmm. I did," she admitted. "I'm keeping the case."
Holly's forehead bumped hers gently, almost tenderly. "Can you? Mounties outrank PD."
"It's not provably international, or even cross territory. Yet."
Her wife made a noise of understanding. "Is that why you're mad at your mom?"
"I'm not." Surprised, Gail leaned back. "I'm trying to make sense of stupid. That painting is fucking terrible." She let go of Holly and waved at the wall.
Holly leaned into Gail, resting against her to look at the magic wall. "It's not that bad," Holly demurred.
"It's basic," said Gail, grimly.
"Oh stop it, Tim Gunn." Laughing, Holly gave her a little nudge. "I got you Hawaiian."
"You got me barbecue?" Gail sighed happily and trotted around her desk, picking up the bag as she went to her couch. "Is this allowed on my diet?"
Holly rolled her eyes. "Don't make me feed your young'uns."
They quickly sorted out portions and utensils and drinks, eating in comfortable silence. Early on, Gail had worried about the times they got quiet. Not talking was a sign of a relationship about to end, at least in her experience. But with Holly, there was a feeling that it was okay to not talk. To just sit and be. Sometimes they'd read, sometimes they'd watch TV. Sometimes one would watch TV and the other would work or read.
Just being around Holly was relaxing. Calming.
"Why did Sandy steal that one," said Holly abruptly, looking up at the wall. "It's not bad art, but it's not particularly special." Gail tilted her head. For the most part, Holly didn't have a great depth of feeling for art. She let her wife continue with her train of thought. "What would make it special? Did they screw by it or something?"
"You remember that stuff?"
"I remember the tag number on the coat you were wearing when we first kissed," said Holly with absolute sincerity.
Gail blinked. "What?"
"046. It was a fur coat." Holly arched her eyebrows. "You don't remember that?"
"Oh I do but... I mean. Peck."
Holly rolled her eyes and leaned forward, kissing the corner of Gail's mouth. "There are some things you don't forget, Gail. What's your theory?"
"Hate," she admitted, picking a piece of pork off Holly's plate. "What if this was something the Fairchilds or Armstrongs liked and she stole it to piss them off? To have something they couldn't?"
Holly frowned and stole a piece of shrimp. "That seems pretty petty."
"Most theft is."
"I know but... Sandy doesn't strike me as a petty person. She's smarter than that."
"Even after having her history erased?"
"Oh." Holly leaned back. "How much would I hate the Pecks. I see." She closed her eyes and covered her take out container with a hand. "Why does it matter why? I mean, it won't get you any closer to knowing why the wrong painting was in the safe, and it certainly doesn't answer where your missing Hoffman is."
Gail huffed and slouched.
She was right. The case was really separate from the why in this case. It didn't matter why this painting, since the whole Sandy Steals Art aspect of the case was what Marcel would be working on. That was international and complicated and a mess. Gail was ancillary to the insurance scam.
On the other hand, her own case was to find her bank break in's sister. Someone who had attacked her own division. Someone who was dangerous and desperate. Obviously she wanted her family heirloom back.
"I wonder if she'd try to kill Sandy," mused Gail.
"Who, Louise? Maybe if she knew about her." Holly opened her eyes and ate her last shrimp. "It's frustrating to have that open end, isn't it?"
"Exceptionally so," Gail growled.
"You should concentrate on what you can do."
Gail narrowed her eyes. "What can I do?"
"Catch Louise Hoffman," Holly said, simply.
Blinking a little, Gail laughed. "Well when you put it that way..."
But Holly was right. She needed to let the case she couldn't solve go. It didn't matter if she never understood why Sandy stole that painting. They had Sandy locked up and Marcel could spend a hundred years digging into her head to find the rest of her stolen goods. And Gail just had no lead on a mysterious girl.
How could she catch someone who was so good at hiding? Someone who's father had hidden, someone who's grandfather had hidden. And died, but still. Someone who came out of the shadows do attack. Someone who raged at the fake painting enough to set fire to the damned precinct.
Someone who was angry. How angry? Would she rage against a known face to put on the crime of her own lost heritage?
Well now.
That was an idea.
Gail's problem is she wants to solve the Sandy case, which isn't her business. And she needs to solve the Louise case, or rather just catch and arrest her, and she doesn't have leads.
So to recap: Seymour Hoffman died on a boat coming to America. His kids went to the camps, except the baby was smuggled out instead. The baby's kids are Walter and Louise.
Meanwhile, Sandy was married to Tristan. They divorced and he died with his mistress. The Armstrongs paid to cover it up and hide the scandal, as Antonia Fairchild had married into their family. Antonia's grandmother was Miranda Fairchild, an actress. Antonia's two children are Eli and Elaine.
And yes, Elaine's memory is slipping. That miss about the Archer hotel back in season two was a clue.
