[February 18, 12:20]
"Sorry," she hiccupped, wiping tears from her cheeks. Just the memory of that night terrified her to tears, but she knew that once she calmed down, the weight she had borne these past few days would seem lighter. Don had listened patiently while she blubbered her way through her tale, without interrupting her a single time. She was grateful for that.
"No, no. Don't be," he said softly. He spotted a box of tissues on the cart in the corner that was home to various medical devices. Plucking a few from the box, he handed them to her.
"Thank you." Juliana accepted them. She wiped away the rest of her tears and tried to blow her nose delicately. Was it even possible to do such a thing? She didn't want to seem crude in front of him.
"That sounds really scary. I'm glad you're okay," Don said earnestly. He eyed her hands resting on top of the blankets, but decided it would be too forward of him to reach for them. "What are the cops doing about this, do they have a suspect yet?" he asked, switching gears, putting on his best indignant family member act.
She gave a watery laugh. He was really committed to this charade. "I am told they are investigating."
"Investigating?" he shook his head. "My dad was a cop his whole life. He told me 'investigating' is what they say when there's no new information," he confided.
"I would be alright with that," she murmured.
"You... don't... want this guy caught?" he asked slowly.
The woman worried the balled-up tissues, tearing off miniscule pieces. "I do, it's just... My situation is complicated."
"Flack."
They both whipped towards the door, too engrossed in their conversation to notice that Stella had arrived. If he thought Stella was livid with him last time, he was wrong. The storm cloud was back, this time as a thunderhead. She had undoubtedly connected Juliana's puffy red eyes to his presence and Stella's face said he had all of three seconds to get his butt into the hall to face her wrath. "I have to go," Don said guiltily, like a teenager caught out past curfew. He retrieved his badge and gun, returning them to his belt where they belonged before stepping into the hall.
Juliana smiled sadly. She had liked Don. He had been caring and patient. Funny too. But he was just a persona. Detective Flack would return in a moment, focused on pursuing a case that she wanted no part in. She heard the whisper-argument escalate, then calm, and a few moments of quiet before they knocked and came in.
"Detective Flack, Detective Bonasera," Flack said briefly, indicating himself then his partner.
Stella looked weary, as if she didn't quite believe his story of apology and that he would behave himself.
The woman nodded. Of course she remembered who they were.
"It's come to our attention that your relationship with Grayson isn't as we thought," Stella began. "You married for a green card, not for love."
Juliana sighed. It had taken them all of two days to figure it out. "So what happens now?"
Flack shrugged. "We investigate your case. You see, Mac's lab has a problem with tunnel vision. We tend to be too hell-bent on solving the case to care about things like politics or media image."
"What are you saying?" Why couldn't Americans just say what they meant? The Dutch were a blunt people, even with delicate matters. Here, she felt like she had to read between the lines every time someone spoke.
"He's saying, we don't care about your green card," Stella explained, "and we're not reporting you to Immigration."
"You aren't?" Wasn't that against the law? The very laws the NYPD were supposed to enforce?
"I think justice being served would be locking up the person who attacked you," she replied. Like Flack had said, tunnel vision.
"We're homicide detectives, not immigration detectives," Flack quipped. "Plus, we've pissed off a lot powerful people in the pursuit of justice." He counted them off on his fingers. "Chief of Detectives, the mayor..." he glanced at Stella, "Cyprus."
"Hey!" she whispered, slapping his arm. The whole Cyprus matter was over and done with. He knew she didn't like bringing it up.
"It's true," he shot back. Judging by her expression, Juliana was definitely wondering how they had managed to piss off an entire nation. "My point is, we can handle Immigration if they get their tighty whities in a knot. What we can't do, is find this perp without your help."
"You won't have to testify in court," Stella said firmly, sitting by the bed.
Flack shot Stella a look that she didn't see. It was bold to make it sound like a sure thing.
"All we need is your statement to point us in the right direction. If we can find enough physical evidence to convict, you won't have to appear in court."
Alright, better. Except Mac had all but ordered them to stop telling witnesses they could avoid the stand if the evidence was strong enough. The evidence in Maggie Hall's case had been plenty strong and properly handled. But the judge had suppressed it anyway and subpoenaed Maggie to testify. He still remembered the horrific cuts the defendants had gouged into Maggie's face in an attempt to scare her into silence.
"Do you promise not to report me to Immigration?" the woman asked cautiously.
"Of course," Stella answered immediately. "Even after the investigation is over," she paused. The question hadn't been addressed to her. Juliana was looking at Flack. Maybe he had patched things up better than the puffy red eyes seemed to indicate.
"Promise," the man said with a smile.
She took a deep breath. "I still have nothing to say."
"What?" That was not the answer Stella had been expecting.
Juliana focused on the tissues in her lap, the pile of tiny shreds growing slowly. She didn't want to see the disappointment on their faces. "You said so yourself. You need my help. That means you're out of suspects or leads or however you call it. If I say nothing, my case goes to the bottom of the pile. And eventually it will go away."
"But they're going to get away with it!" Stella exclaimed.
Juliana shrank at the outburst. "I am sorry."
Apparently, Stella had claimed 'bad cop' for today. That left him with 'good cop'. "You're right," Flack said quietly. "We are out of leads. The lab, my guys, we've chased down every piece of evidence and we have nothing left." He walked around to the other side of the bed. He felt bad, boxing her in, but he already had the unofficial statement. He just needed to get the official one. "Nothing. Except you. If you don't give a statement, there's no way for us to find him. He's gonna be out there, running the streets. And it's only a matter of time until someone else gets hurt."
Juliana shook her head.
"I know you're worried about your green card. We'll take care of it. Everyone owes everyone favours. We'll call in a few. Make sure no one asks any questions about you," he said, more confidently than he really was. He didn't have a direct connection to anyone in Immigration. But he was fairly sure that either Patzo or Liu knew a wife of a friend of a cousin who worked in something related to green cards. Close enough.
"We won't go to the DA unless the case is iron clad. You won't have to testify," Stella reminded her.
"Don't you see? If I don't give a statement, I guarantee that I stay out of court. It doesn't depend on physical evidence or anything else. If you have no leads, just let it go," she pleaded.
"You know it's the right thing to do," he urged her.
"I can't... afford to do the right thing," she sniffed.
Flack's stomach clenched. He was going to make her cry again.
"Then maybe we can't afford to call in some favours." Stella crossed her arms.
Heart pounding, Juliana looked at one detective, then the other. The glare Flack was shooting at Stella made her feel better, even if all she had from either of them was their word. Unlike Wilhelmina, she didn't like risk and hated gambling. But it was time to make a bet. "Then don't," she said, trying to sound firm instead of scared.
Stella gritted her teeth. Again, not the answer she had been expecting, even if it was a bit weak.
"If we don't catch him, he might come after you again." God, he hated putting the idea in her head, but it was his last resort.
Juliana let out a shuddering sigh. "I have nothing to say." She drew her knees up to her chest and put her head in her hands. Praying they would stop with their questions and finally leave her alone.
"Stella, I think we should let her rest." Flack picked up his jacket and opened the door. Juliana was done with cops for the day. He knew it.
"You have my card. Call me if you change your mind." Stella was harsher to her own ears than she wanted to sound, but here they were, leaving empty-handed a second time. She hit the down button for the elevator and turned to her partner. "Did you think we could get a statement because I sure as hell thought so."
Flack put his hands in his pockets. "She wants to stay under the radar and not get deported. Can you blame her?"
"We promised not to report her," Stella reminded him.
"You weren't actually going back on that, right?"
Stella rolled her eyes. Did he even know her? "Of course not." It was as empty of a threat as they came.
"Good," Flack breathed. He had to make sure. "Juliana's smart enough to realize that being uncooperative gets her what she wants."
Stella strode into the elevator and stabbed the button for the ground floor. She threw up her hands. "We're never going to find this guy!"
As the doors began to slide shut, Flack thrust out his hand. The doors slid back open. He handed his badge and gun to Stella. "Hold on to these for me. I'll meet you at your car."
Stella frowned. Removing your badge was what you did before doing something illegal. "Flack..." They weren't that desperate for a statement. She started after him.
The man spun around, hands up. "Fifteen minutes. Best behaviour." The doors began to close. "On my Nonna!" he swore as the doors met.
Stella's finger hovered of Door Open, but she let her hand fall, and the elevator began its smooth descent. She wasn't sure what Flack was planning, but if he got them a statement without terrorizing the poor woman, then she really didn't mind.
He returned to Juliana's room to find her just as he'd left her. "It's Don," he said softly moving his jacket to show his empty belt.
The woman glanced down, just to check, and straightened, wiping her cheeks. Her tissues were no help, reduced to a pile of confetti during their earlier conversation. He brought her a few more, which she accepted gratefully. Composing herself was easier than she thought it would be. She seemed to be running out of tears to cry. "Are you here to tell me that Detective Bonasera is going to report me if I don't give a statement?" she asked glumly, smoothing down the band-aid on her cheek. The moisture had caused it to start peeling up.
"Nah, Stella would never do that. She wants to catch this guy, but not at the cost of deporting you." Don spun the chair around and sat on it backwards. "I'm actually here to say goodbye. Because my grandmother always swore she would bludgeon me to death with her oldest wooden spoon if I made a girl cry twice in one day."
"Tough family you have," she said, raising an eyebrow, "but I think you will be able to defend yourself from an old lady with a wooden spoon."
"Oh man, you said it." He pointed an accusing finger at her. "Old lady with a wooden spoon. Now I'll have nightmares for a week."
"Are you being serious?"
"You have no idea what an Italian Nonna is willing to do to her own grandkids. This one time, my sister and I took meatballs out of the skillet before dinner was ready. Nonna made us fold - by hand - every batch of tortellini she made for a month. To this day, I can fold tortellini in my sleep."
She couldn't help but smile, picturing Don snoring, his hands working away folding pasta on top of the blankets. A little humour was welcome after the week she had had. "Why are you here, Don?" she asked when he didn't add to his tale. "Were you hoping I would change my mind?"
Busted. "Did you?"
"No," Juliana sighed. She hoped he didn't think less of her for her decision. "If doing nothing could protect everything you moved across an ocean for, what would you do?"
"I'd give a statement. Because it's the right thing to do," he replied, leaning on the back of the chair.
She glanced at him sidelong. He was watching her intently. "And you know that? As a fact," she challenged.
"I do." Don wasn't expecting to defend his position, but he had had his share of morally grey experiences. "Three years ago, Dean Truby stole black cocaine from a drug raid that I led. We had no idea until the stuff showed up at a crime scene six months later." He spread his hands. "Questions start getting asked. I get asked if I stole it. I get asked if one of my guys stole it. The whole time, I'm swearing up and down that there's no way that my guys stole anything. They're good guys who do good work. Until the lab came back with their results." Don winced and ran a hand down his face. He still remembered that day. "They had narrowed it down to a couple of cops. They just needed to know which one before they made a real accusation."
He continued, "I had a choice. I could hand in my memo book, that had the names of every detective at that raid. Or, I could do nothing. Protect their reputations and their work. Because if you get found out as a dirty cop, all your good work is worth-" he held up a zero with his fingers, "squat. Every thug you ever put away starts screaming for an appeal. Even the guilty ones. Especially the guilty ones," he said bitterly. "I didn't want to do it. But Mac was right. Even if the fallout was gonna be a nightmare." And what a nightmare Clay Dobson had turned out to be. "We had to find the dirty cop. We owed it to all the other cops that had never crossed the line. So I handed in my book. Because it was the right thing to do."
She couldn't bear to look at him. He really was a good person. So much better than she was. Because even after his noble story, she was still going to disappoint him. "I am not like you. Call me selfish. Or maybe just a coward. But I won't do it." Juliana heard him release the breath he was holding. "I am sorry," she said hollowly.
Don rested his chin in his hand, defeated. At least he had tried. He could hardly remember the last time had pushed so hard for a witness statement, especially one he had already heard. "What if..."
Juliana froze in the middle of gathering her tissue confetti into one hand.
"What if I asked you a couple questions. As Don." Seeing her reluctance, he hurried on. "If a likely guy comes up in the investigation, I can lean on him a bit. Who knows, if we get lucky, he'll confess. Then he goes to jail, and you get to stay because we found him with nothing good police work." He held up his pinky. "Just between you and me," he reminded her.
"I didn't see his face," she said dejectedly, returning to her task.
"You heard his voice," he pointed out. A photo array wasn't the only way to pick out a perp. She had more useful details in her memory than she knew. He just had to find them. "What did he sound like?"
She shook her head and looked at him hopelessly. "American?"
Don inclined his head. Fair. She had been here less than a year. All New Yorkers probably sounded the same to her. "What if you heard him again, would you recognize his voice?"
"Yes." How could she forget when the nightmares plagued her every night? She relived the attack in her sleep, sometimes exactly, sometimes distorted and ending in her death. But the feeling of the knife in her back and the disgusted male voice never changed. Juliana rubbed her eyes. They burned from the sleepless nights and now from all the crying too. "But I don't see how that would help unless I happen to run into him again."
"You let me worry about that. One more question," he said, seeing her fatigue. "Did he smell like anything?"
The woman blinked. Now that he mentioned it, she remembered the acrid smell that had accompanied the threat. "Like cigarettes."
"That's good." It wasn't much, but it was something. More than he left with last time, which counted as a success in his book. "Every little thing helps. You'll see." He stood and set the chair back in the proper direction. "I should let you get some rest." He fished the garbage can out from under the bedside table for Juliana to discard all her accumulated tissues.
She dropped the tissue confetti in. "I always fiddle with things," she mumbled, embarrassed, fingers prodding the blankets to see if she had missed any tissue shreds.
"I can see that," he smiled. He reached out, plucking a piece of tissue from where it clung to her hair. She blushed. He probably was too. Don picked up the book, holding it out to her. Then, the question that had been lurking in the back of his mind tumbled out of his mouth, unbidden. "Who's Berty?"
She smoothed the band-aid on her cheek, half nervous habit, half to cover her pleasant surprise. "BEER-tye," she said pointedly, correcting his horrid pronunciation, "is my little brother." Juliana glanced at him. "Don't look so jealous," she added, against her better judgement.
Don relinquished the book and hurried towards the door. "I'll see about getting someone to change that," he said, gesturing vaguely at her band-aid. When he got into the elevator, he thanked God that it was empty. He groaned and put his face in his hands. Why couldn't he just keep his mouth shut? If Juliana had any doubts about his interest in her, surely he had quashed them all with that one question. The man felt the idiot's grin spread on his face. At least the interest seemed to be mutual.