Here comes Detective Hackett again. But will he believe Dean and his theory?
Rebel8954, Carl the pigeon is a definite badass (but only because I liked the idea of Seth being scared of something even smaller than him). As for your guesses? Well, we will soon be meeting the other members of the Hurley family, so you'll be able to see how they all square up!
ViolentHugger03, Ooh, nice guess. Not that I can say whether or not you're right though. Guess you'll just have to keep reading (wink!)
SkittlezLvr79, Hmm, I wonder what clues I may (or may not have) given away! Although if anyone is going to guess the culprit it's probably you! Might be a few more clues in this chapter...or maybe there aren't? Who knows?!
Wolfgirl2013, Aww, thanks!
Minnie1015, Well, the son is going to pop up eventually. So when we meet him you'll have to let me know whether that's still your guess or not (evil grin).
xXBalorBabeXx, You mean the police? I like to think that Hackett is more world weary than shady. But he's definitely not the easiest person to talk to, as you will see in this chapter!
Skovko, Well, I can definitely tell you that Lacey Evans is not in this story (sorry) but beyond that I can confirm or deny nothing else (not even if you offered me cake. Although…)
Cheryl24, Ooh, another family would definitely be a curve ball. But I think Mr Hurley has enough trouble with the one he's got, as we will come to find out!
LHisawesome4ever, Nice guess. Dean is on your wavelength too…
Mandy, Aww, sorry about the rejection. Maybe try something else in the meantime? I've been in my job for 13 years. It wasn't what I wanted to do or trained to do, but I kind of fell into it and now it's my calling. Sometimes life just takes you off down a different path. Keep at it and here's some grumbly Dean in the meantime for your reading pleasure!
Not-that-kinda-gurl, Aww, thank you so much! Sometimes an idea just runs away with me, like it did with this story. Other times inspiration is a lot harder to come by!
Phoenix lord of rebirth, I like mixing chilled chapters with drama chapters. Can't be at full throttle all of the time. Hope you like this chapter, it's got a little bit of everything (or at least, I like to think it does!)
Here's Hackett...
EIGHT
"So let me get this straight here," Detective Hackett repeats blithely, just like he had done fifteen hours before. Except if it's possible, even less enthusiastically and with so much surprise the grey brows almost take off and then disappear right up into his hairline, which is impressive for a man who must be sixty – sixty five. Even though he seems to have aged another decade since Dean started talking.
"You," he sputters in disbelief, "You really think that Ella Hurley was murdered?"
Dean shrugs back across the desktop at him,
"Yeah."
In total it's been eight, or maybe eight and a half minutes since the two of them had arrived at the precinct in District 3 and been shown up to Hackett's cluttered desk in the open bullpen where the traffic cops and evidently homicide worked and yet, in that time not only had Dean blurted out his theory, but Hackett had chomped through two whole cigars. Which had seemed like a pretty poor waste of a Cuban in Roman's opinion,
"Ha," Hackett suddenly laughs and then slaps his hand down over the desktop as he leans back in his chair, "Hey Bill, listen to this. Columbo over here thinks Hackett was murdered"
Bill – whoever Bill is since it's not too apparent given that pretty much everyone swivels their way – throws his head back and laughs like a jackass as Dean turns bright red and then shifts in his chair.
Roman palms the back of his neck line,
"Nice deep breaths babe."
It doesn't help much.
"It was a setup," Dean insists, hissing the words out as Hackett turns back chuckling like he's heard a good joke, "The woman I met in the park wasn't Hurley. It was someone who looked like her."
"And you know this how?" Hackett asks, waving the tip of his cigar like a pointer.
"Because she liked Seth," Dean huffs in response, which makes the long time lawman falter and then lean in a little closer, "And now who the hell is Seth?"
"He is," Dean glowers, unzipping his jacket and revealing the familiar ball of white fluff inside. Or at least it's familiar to Roman at any rate, but for Hackett it's obviously more of a surprise, since he briefly chokes on the butt of his Montecristo then removes it completely.
"Good lord son. Is that a dog?" in response Seth looks up and curls a tiny lip at him and the detective recoils, "You can't bring that in here."
Dean shrugs indifferently,
"Sure I can. He's a witness."
"Oh I see. So do you want me to take his statement as well? Tell me, does he talk or will I need a translator? I know, how about animal control?"
"Carry on uce," Roman grunts as the mood turns fractious and keen to counteract it before it gets any worse. Not that it feels like it could ever get better. Dean zips his battered leather jacket back up but then keeps going, which Roman guesses is something and better than him cursing. Or hitting himself.
"Like I said, she liked Seth, which the real Ella Hurley," he emphasises the real bit for effect, "Wouldn't have done. Because she was like, terrified of dogs an' stuff. Right uce?"
"According to this," Roman instantly backs him up, pushing a copy of The Herald across the desktop, which Detective Hackett doesn't even seem to bother glancing at.
"So like, it freakin' couldn't have been her," Dean presses, trying to ignore the roomful of detectives who are still sort of sniggering like they think he's insane and in hindsight, perhaps it's best that he hadn't joined the police force, since Roman kind of doubts that he would have fitted in. It seems too vicious and cliquey for Ambrose.
"Which means, I suppose," Hackett sighs in long suffering, "That therefore it just had to be this lookalike of yours. In spite of the fact that not nine hours later, the real Ella Hurley strung herself up, at exactly the time that the woman who hired you told you to be there."
Roman blinks,
"So it was definitely her?"
"Husband ID'd her last night, the poor bastard and I'll tell you what, I've never seen a man look so shocked."
Roman can imagine. He thinks briefly about his own wife and then fights back the sudden burn of emotion in his throat. Dean meanwhile has started to rubbing at his neck line. Which is still better than the hitting thing, but not by a lot.
"I mean, unless he did it or something."
What?" Detective Hackett nearly blows a damn gasket, "So now you think Christopher Hurley murdered his wife? Kid, you gotta stop smoking that peace pipe. It's doing things to you."
Dean's jacket starts to move and a man walking past with a raft full of casefiles stops in confusion and blinks open mouthed, like maybe he's stumbled on a scene out of Alien and a tiny extra-terrestrial is about to burst from Dean's guts. Roman shoots him an unimpressed glower and the guy hustles on, although Roman keeps the look up and turns it instead towards the hardened detective for even damn well hinting that Dean is on drugs.
Which he isn't. Well, excluding Jack Daniels.
Dean frowns hotly,
"But why else would she hire me? Why would the lookalike hire me I mean? Because m' tellin' you dude, someone murdered Ella Hurley, an' then strung me along so I could see it go down, an' so they had like, an' outside witness or whatever. Except I don't buy it."
"So now let me get this straight," Roman bites back a groan. There it is again. Hackett's favorite phrase, "Because now what you think, is that Christopher Hurley and some lookalike girlfriend, bumped off his wife and paid you to come and watch?"
Dean shrugs,
"So I could call the police or whatever, an' they would know what time to have an alibi for."
"Or," Hackett huffs, leaning in across the desktop like he's going to suggest a radical idea. Except for the fact that he looks completely deadpan, "The woman you met that night was Ella Hurley and she paid you to be there so she knew she would be found. Because believe it or not kid, before they do these things, some people tend to be pretty damn well thought out. I mean, they write long notes and they put their affairs in order, or in her case maybe make sure someone is there. So that she isn't just in there hung from the lampshade."
Roman feels his stomach turn over a little,
"Hey – ,"
"But what about Seth?" Dean points at his jacket, seemingly not bothered by the whole hanging talk.
Hackett turns his hands up,
"Aww how the hell would I know? She killed herself kid. She was hardly in her right mind."
"But you just said she was, an' that's why she hired me."
In response Detective Hackett turns a shade of puce red that for a second Roman thinks is some form of embarrassment, before realising that – nope – the detective is pissed and probably rushed off his feet with mounds of paperwork and provable murders and his endless box of cigars and so therefore the last things he wants – or needs for that matter – is a scruffy private eye who's convinced he's seen a murder but had nothing else to go on except a hunch and a small white dog.
He points a finger,
"Now you listen to me son – ,"
"Thank you detective," Roman suddenly interjects, holding out a hand and cutting the cop off mid-sentence, not to mention of course mid-angry fingerpoint at Dean, "We appreciate your time and everything you've done here."
"What?" Dean gapes in return, "No we don't. I mean, he didn't like, even have the place dusted, or canvas for witnesses or – ,"
Roman hauls him up,
"Uce, come on."
"Fine," Dean grunts, "But I still think he's a jackass."
Detective Hackett spreads his hands out,
"Hey, I can hear you ya know?"
"Good. Solve this thing by ourselves," Dean mutters, as Roman flashes an appeasing smile at the cop and then steers Dean past the sniggering investigators, who much like Detective Hackett think he's missing a screw.
Outside a media scrum has gathered, although they don't pay much attention to Roman and Dean. Which is probably because in his battered leather jacket, the private eye looks like a man who's been locked up and even without the much maligned waistcoat, Roman still looks like his criminal defence lawyer. Which on the plus side means that Dean can keep rambling, but on the downside means –
Well, he can ramble a lot.
"Stupid Hackett," he grumbles out bitterly, rubbing his palm across his collarbone on repeat and twitching his shoulders in a nervous tick motion, "Makin' out like m' crazy. I mean, do I look crazy to you?"
"Uh," Roman points to the angry neck rubbing and Dean suddenly notices and drops his hand,
"Oh."
"But no babe," Roman carries on, "You're not crazy."
He means that too. Quirky, but not crazy in least. Unzipping his jacket the scruffy blonde lets Seth back out, who shakes his long fur and then lets out a huff, like maybe he's also upset about Hackett. Or more likely at Dean for being cooped up for so long. Not that the pedigree ever seems happy. Except for when he's trying to savage someone that is.
Dean shakes his head,
"M' tellin' you Roman, this whole freakin' suicide think fuckin' stinks. An' I think it goes back to Alistair Hackett."
"Christopher Hackett babe."
"Whatever," Dean flaps a hand and is about to go right back to his ticking when someone suddenly bellow his name across the street.
"Ambrose. Well, now there's a sight for sore eyes."
A woman who looks like she's stepped out of Newsies is stood in the throng of journalists waving like mad and wearing a pair of slacks with suspenders and an actual god damn baker boy cap. On seeing her Dean lights up in an instant,
"Nancy, that you? Fuck. It's kinda been a while."
"Five months and two weeks to be exact," she grins back at him, rising up onto her tiptoes for a kiss on the cheek as he abandons his grumbling to actually hug her, "Back when we spent that night in well, you know. What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas though. Who's this?"
"Oh uh, Nancy, this is Roman," Dean offers as the woman steps forward and squeezes his hand. And then his bicep. She squeezes his bicep and then bites her lip,
"Ooh."
"He's my partner," Dean carries on, "He like, makes sure the office looks all neat an' stuff, so that the neighbors don't think I got broken into again."
"Again?" Roman hisses as Nancy chuckles giddily and then flips her hair back,
"So what are you boys doing here?"
"Same thing you are," Dean shrugs loosely, as Seth starts to whimper and keen around Nancy's feet and act like he isn't a man eating rat dog ninety nine point nine damn percent of the time.
Nancy blinks,
"You're here for the Hurley case?"
Dean nods at her glumly,
"I found her last night. She freakin' like, hired me or whatever, an' then the next thing we know," he waves a hand around, "Dead."
"Wait a second here," Nancy splutters incredulously, "You found her? Holy shit. Deano, ya gotta give me the inside scoop, or like, a world exclusive or something. The man who found the body."
Dean smirks at her,
"Alright. But first you gotta give me a little somethin'."
"Uh oh," she grins at Roman, "I hate when he says that, since it usually costs me a whole bunch of favors or a night in the cells."
"I need Christopher Hurley's address."
"Huh?"
"Huh?" Roman echoes in equal confusion as the red headed journalist next to them shrugs and then thrusts her chin up in semi defiance,
"What makes you think I even have his address?"
"Because you're the best freakin' reporter in the city," Dean counters smoothly with an incorrigible grin, "And because you owe me for the thing with the monkey."
Roman doesn't even want to know what that means.
"Fine," Nancy sighs, pulling out a black marker and then scribbling an address over the back of Dean's hand, "But remember Ambrose, that world exclusive interview is mine and one else's, okay?"
"Sure thing," Dean grins back as the precinct doors open and a man steps out looking frustrated and tired. Instantly the gathered press steps in together and Nancy hisses,
"Shit. Better go, that's the police chief. He might have something for us. Oh and Dean, don't go causing any trouble now, you hear?"
The copper blonde detective feigns outrage in response to her,
"Who me? Nance please, m' like totally professional."
"Huh," she replies with a disbelieving snort, before winking in over the sidewalk at the big man, "Nice meeting you Roman, don't you be a stranger now."
"He's happily married Nance."
"Damn it," she huffs back, before turning and pressing her way into the melee, which is already busy shouting questions at the police chief and, okay, it's official, they really are in an old time film, complete with people waving pencils and paper and trying hard to be heard over each other.
"Was it suicide?"
"Why has Mr Hurley not released an official statement?"
"Is it true that the body was found by a homeless man?"
Luckily though Dean doesn't seem to hear the last part, since he's busy looking down at the address on his hand and seems to be filled with a new sense of purpose.
"Come on uce."
"Come on where?"
"We're gonna call on this Hurley guy an' see if we can ask a few questions about his wife. Like why she hadn't been seen in public for like, forever, an' why he decided to freakin' murder her."
Roman sighs and then picks Seth up off the sidewalk,
"Fine, but for the record this is a horrible idea. Oh and by the way, did she say a monkey?"
Dean grins,
"Ho yeah. I'll tell you about it on the way."
Next week we finally get to meet Christopher Hurley. Sherlock Holmes hats on folks!