I've had this idea for a while and a "Fic-tober" prompt list made it come to fruition. The prompt is "You Have No Proof". Set after the series ends. One of Nick's cold cases is reopened with an interesting twist.

Rated K

I own nothing. Everything belongs to the keepers and creators of City Homicide.

Startled by the sound of approaching footsteps, she spun around quickly, nearly losing her balance. "Who're you? What d'you want?" The woman snapped, annoyed by the intrusion.

"Are you Marla Anderson?"

There was a moment of silence, a brief stand-off as the woman sucked on the inside of her cheek. Her eyes moved between the two suits. "Sure…. Yeah." She nodded, crossing her arms over her chest.

"I'm detective Freeman," and he nudged over his shoulder as they both held up their identification. "This is detective Buchanan."

Marla rolled her eyes.

"Would you mind coming down from there, please?" Detective Freeman continued politely.

She sighed, letting her arms unfold and drop heavily at her sides. After a moment's hesitation, she complied with the request and climbed down from the stepladder she had been using. Once on the ground, Marla crossed her arms again, defensively this time. "What do you want?" She asked and impatiently added, "what's this about?"

"Do you know someone by the name of Jakob Tunjic," detective Freeman asked cautiously.

There was a moment of silence as Marla considered her answer. The detectives watched as she worked to maintain her passive expression, coaxing herself to remain calm. Her wrist twitched slightly, trapped in its hold over her chest and her face flushed faintly as, finally, she spoke. "Yes," her voice was a little tighter than it had been before. "He's my daughter's boyfriend."

"And your boyfriend?" Detective Buchanan asked.

Wide-eyed and insulted, Marla turned. "What? No!"

"Lover, maybe?" Detective Freeman offered.

A shadow filled Marla's gaze, but before she could answer, detective Buchanan spoke again. "Where were you on Saturday night?"

"I was here, at the bar, working." Marla answered impatiently, copping a subtle attitude, "and then home." She glanced between the two detectives, "has something happened to Jake?" She asked blandly.

"Jakob Tunjic was found dead late Sunday morning." Detective Buchanan answered matter-of-factly. "We'd like you to come with us; we've got some questions we'd like to ask you down at the station."

"What?" The woman's tone laced with irritation, "now?"

"Yes, now," and detective Freeman stepped aside, ushering Marla Anderson past him. With an aggravated sigh, she stepped around the detectives, keeping a watchful eye on detective Buchanan as she moved.

Marla watched as the two detectives entered the interview room; the first casually thanked and dismissed the constable that had been standing guard. With a smirk, Marla raised her eyebrows, a subtle challenge embedded in her greeting as the detectives approached the table where she sat, where she had been sitting for nearly an hour.

Having already worked out that she was being considered a suspect, she knew that being kept waiting was merely a tactic to try and disarm her. Now she wondered how the detectives had strategized their approach to this conversation. Would they play with her, making a show of a good cop/bad cop routine? Would they feign naivety and try to lure her into a trap, or would they just come straight out with it, cut through the bullshit and lay their cards on the table. Marla watched as the detectives arranged themselves, pulling out chairs, dropping their files onto the table, and finally lowering themselves onto their seats. She considered flirting with one of them; it certainly wouldn't have been the first time, and she glanced at their hands to check for any hardware. They were both attractive in their own way, and both presented an equally appealing challenge. Marla smiled to herself; really, she could go either way.

The interview commenced at 3:18, and it was clear to Marla that these detectives had taken the no-bullshit approach. By 5:00, she had detailed the day in question, her whereabouts, and the likes with enough superfluous detail to keep anyone tracking her movements going in circles for hours. She had adamantly denied seeing the victim or having any disagreements with the man, despite witness reports to the contrary. "I love my daughter." She placed her hands down on the table, leaning in towards the detectives. "Why would I do something like this?" Marla shrugged emphatically, "it would devastate her."

Detective Freeman pulled out a series of photographs and placed them on the table in front of her. The pictures were of Jakob Tunjic, some from the crime scene and some from the morgue. "This was the fatal wound," he said as he slid the picture in front of her. "And we think that you might be responsible."

Marla laughed and pushed the picture away. "You have no proof."

"See… the thing is." Detective Buchanan spoke with an authority that Marla felt verged on patronizing. "When we started our inquiry into Jakob's death, your name came up. And it kept coming up."

Detective Freeman took over. "We have multiple reports, even one from your daughter, you know, the daughter you claim would be devastated. She told us that you had a verbal altercation with Jakob on the day he died." He straightened and leaned back in his chair, "she said that you like being the center of attention, Marla, that you like sleeping with other people's partners, including hers! She also told us that if someone says no to you, things get ugly."

There was a knock, and Marla's eyes flickered towards the door. Ignoring the interruption, detective Freeman carried on. "And when we ran your name..."

Another detective came into the interview room, walked quickly towards detective Buchanan and handed over a file. She leaned in and whispered something quietly before turning to leave. As the door clicked shut, Marla's eyes dropped to the file that now sat on the table in front of the detective.

"... some misdemeanor things." Detective Freeman continued, "possession, assault; assault with a deadly weapon," and with that, he had Marla's full attention once again. She lifted her head and looked at him hard. "But we didn't stop there." He flipped open another file that sat in front of him and rapped his knuckles off the top page. "We did a little more digging, and your name came up in another investigation. Does the name Carey Aylward mean anything to you?"

Marla's eyes snapped up from the file in front of detective Freeman. She blinked, and slowly her eyes moved to glare at detective Buchanan. When she didn't respond, detective Freeman spoke again. "This man was your boyfriend when he disappeared, and he has since been presumed dead."

Without taking her eyes off detective Buchanan, Marla responded flatly, "he was my boyfriend; we broke up."

"Right," Detective Freeman gave a smug laugh. "A lot of blood was found in the alleyway behind the bar where you both worked, but no body and no murder weapon."

Marla didn't flinch; she simply glared at detective Buchanan.

"Until now," detective Buchanan's eyes narrowed, refusing to be intimidated by their suspect. "Officers went back to the bar with a warrent, where they found a knife." The detective's fingers blindly drummed over the folder on the table. "A knife that had been wrapped in a dishtowel and tucked behind some liquor bottles on a shelf."

Marla's voice was eerily calm, "did he put you up to this?"

Detective Buchanan was undeterred and continued. "It was wiped clean, but fingerprints are a tricky thing if you're not careful, Marla..." Across the table, Marla scoffed. "...the knife also tested positive for blood."

"I knew I recognized your name." Marla interrupted the detective. "That bastard had a hard-on for me from the beginning," she grinned wryly. "He harassed me for days but wasn't able to prove anything." She shrugged dismissively, "no evidence."

"The knife our officers found today doesn't match any of the knives at the bar where you work. It also doesn't match any of the knives that you have in your home." Detective Buchanan shifted, leaning into the table, "but here's the thing, when we look back at this case file, the knife we found today matches the missing knife from the set owned by Carey Aylward." Holding Marla's gaze, detective Buchanan tapped the folder again and gave a tart, sardonic smile. "Evidence."

Marla swallowed thickly before she spoke, her voice low, so low it might not have been picked up by the tape, "you bitch," and detective Freeman's cheek twitched as he fought to suppress a smile of his own. "Where is he now?" Marla demanded, "because you certainly aren't the detective Buchanan who interviewed me last time."

"Detective Nick Buchanan no longer works in Homicide." Detective Freeman answered.

The suspect let out a humorless laugh as she leaned back in her chair, casually crossing her arms. She had yet to take her piercing eyes off detective Buchanan. "So, detective. How does it work? Do you discuss your cases over dinner? Pillow talk?"

Jennifer's expression remained neutral. "We're waiting on the DNA analysis to come back on the knife." Holding the suspect's icy glare, she spoke to her partner, "what do you reckon, Duncan, it'll come back positive for more than one blood type?"

Marla sneered. "I want a lawyer."

"Good idea," detective Freeman responded as he pushed himself up from his chair.

Detective Buchanan stood casually and reached for her files. She was forced to break eye contact with the suspect to look at the clock. "Interview suspended at 5:27 pm." Pulling her belongings into her arms she turned her back on Marla, and refused to look back at her again.

The door closed behind the detectives, and together they started walking down the hallway towards the observation room. "You really got under her skin," Duncan said with a laugh. "Too bad she lawyered up; she was starting to unravel."

Jen exhaled, trying to maintain her composure. "Yeah."

"Come on, we better go smooth this one over with Jarvis." Duncan started to laugh in earnest, "he's gonna have kittens."