[Monday, February 15, 10:00]

Vladimir was a stocky and muscled, clearly a man dedicated to the gym. With his narrow set eyes and small ears, he gave off the appearance of a Russian mob general. Except, he would have been a lot more intimidating if he wasn't fidgeting. Creases lined his brow, from his eyebrows to his greyish brown hair. His eyes jumped to Stella as she entered the room. His beefy hands twitched in his lap.

"Looking nervous, Vladimir," she commented. Danny had only been sitting with him for two minutes, and he was a far cry from Flack's 6'1" stature and burning blue glare.

"I didn't have a good time last time I was in a police station," he said, his voice deep. He had vivid memories of his last visit ending in handcuffs and an orange jumpsuit. "But I did my time, and I put it behind me."

"You stabbed a man over a parking spot!" Danny cried. "What, Christmas shopping too stressful for you?"

Vladimir wiped the sheen of sweat from his brow and shifted around in his seat. He hated revisiting that incident. "I had anger problems. But I worked on it." What a process it had been, learning to control his rage. To finally be able to rein it in, the way most people could without even thinking about it. "I'm better with it now, ask anyone."

She took a photograph out of her folder and slid it across the metal table. The dark fingerprint stood out sharply from the silver blade. "Recognize that?"

He picked it up. "I-it's my pocket knife," he answered immediately. He'd know it anywhere. "Where did you find it?" he asked.

"Oh, good try," Danny quipped, "but we've heard that one before. Playin' dumb won't get you anywhere."

"We found your knife in the alley where you stabbed her," she answered, pulling out a second picture. Juliana stared up at them, an enlarged version of her driver's licence photo. Vladimir was a nervous wreck already. The nervous ones usually started to crack after the pictures were brought out.

The large man dropped the page like it was as sharp as the knife it depicted. "W-woah, woah. I didn't stab anybody." His heart started to pound. One taste of prison had been plenty, and he never wanted to go back.

"Your history disagrees," Danny reminded him, crossing his arms.

He cringed. Why did this guy have to keep bringing up the assault? It was a mistake that he had made in his past, and he wanted to leave it there. "Okay, okay," Vladimir relented. "But I didn't stab this lady," he declared. He had cleaned up his act since then and developed coping techniques. It sounded like clinical nonsense, but it really worked.

Stella got up and walked around to his side of the table. Perhaps it was time for a little extra pressure. "See this?" Stella traced a large brown blotch in the photo. "That's her blood. It's all over your knife. You didn't like that she wasn't American, is that it?"

He put up a large hand like he was in court, taking an oath. "I swear, on my mother, I didn't do anything to her. And what does America have to do with anything?" he asked, confused.

Danny pulled a face. He swore on his mother and he didn't like that Vladimir used the same turn of phrase. He didn't like to share traits with criminals. "Don't swear on your mother," he said disapprovingly, wagging a finger.

"I'll swear on whatever you want," he cried. "I swear, I lost my knife last week. Fell out of my pocket." They had to believe him. He would take a polygraph test, whatever it took to clear his name.

Danny put on an expression of intense interest. "Lost it? Doesn't that sound convenient to you, Stella?" he cocked his head at her.

"Way too convenient," she agreed. "Where were you two days ago at 9PM?" she demanded menacingly, one hand on the back of his chair, the other pushing Juliana's photograph right under his nose.

Vladimir gaped for a second, his mouth opening and closing, no sound coming out.

"Spit it out!" she snapped, losing her patience.

"I was at work," he said, his cheeks colouring, "writing Valentines," he finished in a mumble. "My manager set up Valentine boxes for all the staff. She's big on team bonding." Vladimir stared at his hands, the colour on his cheeks spreading to his ears. "It was... fun, really. And when we clocked out at 6 in the morning, we shared a bag of those candy heart things. You know, with the little letters on them."