Twenty-Four

"So, Collin Littlesea is your cousin, and he's the leader of a shape-shifter gang based on St. Louis..." Leah said before sipping up nearly a half of her large iced-coffee through the straw; the drink still didn't do a thing for relieving the heat. "How did that happen?"

According to the weatherman, today was going to be one of the hottest days in July, and instead of baking under the sun along the shores of Lake Michigan, Leah was at work. Inside a police station with a half-operating air conditioning system. Waiting for the Voldemort Task Force weekly briefing to begin.

She had a few minutes to spare for some small talk.

Jacob stiffened in his seat next to Leah. "It's a long, fucked-up story," he whispered. "Remind me to tell you when I'm drunk outta my mind."

Leah gave him a look, feigning disapproval. "I thought you were going cold turkey with me," she joked, nudging him with an elbow, and then she realized Jacob wasn't. "Duly noted."

"The goddamn feds wanted me to spy on him," Jacob grumbled quietly. "Accused me of being involved in the Fangs' business when I told them they could go fuck themselves."

Leah's eyes widened. That was something she would have expected to come from Paul. Not Jacob. "I hope you didn't actually say that."

"It was heavily implied," Jacob claimed, straightening up in his seat and crossing his arms tightly. "We're cousins, alright? But we were never close. I mean, we were when we were kids, but obviously, we've chosen different paths."

Jacob could have carried on, but then Paul walked into the conference room with an expression on his face that commanded the attention of everyone. Leah gave her partner one last sympathetic look before turning her focus straight ahead, leaning against the back of the uncomfortable plastic chair.

"Why do you want to petition for a divorce?"

It should have been the easiest question to answer. Second to why she decided to become a cop in the first place. The reply had been swimming around in Leah's head since last December, but now sitting in a chair, across from a divorce attorney referred to by Jenks during her lunch break, Leah couldn't think of the right answer. Or at least, a sophisticated one.

The lawyer, Patricia Melfi, was patiently awaiting Leah's answer, hands folded on the desk, staring at her prospective client expectantly, but not really. She must have heard it all from all walks of life, and she must know what she was doing. Well, if she was charging five hundred dollars a session, she better know what she was doing.

"My husband of almost eight years has been cheating on me with my cousin, who was like a sister to me, by the way, for the past three years," Leah responded. No matter how much she tried otherwise, she still sounded like she was a guest of The Jerry Springer Show. "And she's pregnant."

Melfi nodded and made a note of her potential client's response. "That'll do it," she said.

Leah swallowed. "Yeah."

"Have you considered marriage counseling?"

Leah let out a snort. Now, the divorce law was sounding like her mother. "There's no point," she said.

"Why do you say that?"

"Because my cousin is having my husband's baby," Leah explained, thinking the answer should have been obvious. "You don't come back from that. I mean, I'm sure some people do, but I'm not. I won't. I refuse."

"Understandable—Do you have any children?"

"No," Leah replied bitterly, crossing her arms. She couldn't believe the audacity of Sam, getting Emily pregnant. Why couldn't he impregnate Leah? She had always wanted children, but no. Not know, Leah, he had said. It wouldn't be good for our careers. Leah, I don't think—

"Mrs. Uley?"

Leah's eyes widened upon the realization that she had zoned out for a bit. She shook her head, embarrassed. "Sorry. As you were saying?"

"Is this divorce contested or uncontested?" Melfi asked again.

"Uncontested." Shit, Leah didn't know. "Sort of."

"It's either uncontested or contested," Melfi pointed out. "There's no in-between."

"Contested," Leah decided eventually. They had discussed this, granted it had been months ago at a gory crime scene, but Sam had promised he would give her a divorce. The problem was, "He just wants to wait."

Melfi leaned back in her seat and asked, "Why?"

"I don't know," Leah confessed.

"Have you asked him?"

"I did, and as usual, he gave me nothing."

"Can you ask him again?"

"Not anytime soon," Leah said. She didn't want to talk about the undercover work, but what the hell? She had nothing else to say, but, "He's a cop, too, you see. We're not always available. Sometimes for a while."

Melfi nodded with understanding. "Ah, I see," she said. "I assume your spouse is doing undercover work..." she trailed off, looking up at Leah, waiting for a silent confirmation. Leah just sighed, giving the attorney what she needed. "Don't worry about a thing," she assured. "Client-attorney privilege, remember?"

"Yes, I remember."

"I would wait," Melfi suggested. "Now, I know you want to get this divorce out of the way. Trust me, I get it. Personally, I don't know how I would've reacted if—"

"I pulled a gun on him."

Melfi stared at Leah, a little taken aback by the admission. She then cleared her throat before saying in a leveled voice, "I am going to make believe I did not hear that."

Leah dropped her gaze. Yes, she should have thought before she spoke. "Sorry."

"Not a problem. I've heard worse," Melfi said with a dismissive wave. She was completed unfazed about the slip, leading Leah to wonder what would faze the attorney. "Question about that, though: did you get arrested?"

"No."

"Reported?"

"No."

"Good," Melfi said simply, and then, "As I was saying, it's probably wise to wait. Nothing can really get done until your spouse returns. A divorce decree is an agreement, and you can't have issue one with only one person."

Leah frowned. She hated the fact that Melfi made so much sense. She wanted this entire thing to end, preferably before the summer ended, not wait until the winter like Sam had suggested. "So, what do you expect me to do?"

"Wait until he returns."

Leah let out a frustrated sigh. "By the time he returns," she argued. "That whore will have already given birth by then."

"I wouldn't advise calling your cousin that in any legal proceedings," Melfi said. "To be frank, Leah, your cousin is a non-factor. Yes, she was involved with your husband, and that is wrong, but under the court of law, the only two people in this case that truly matters are you and your spouse."

"So, in other words, I'm just going to have to wait."

"You're going to have to wait," Melfi confirmed. "And for the record, outside of the gun-situation and calling your cousin a whore, the way you've approached this situation is very wise… I know you are upset, but the last thing you need right now is a criminal case because you've exploded on someone. Take this time away from your spouse to let out some steam. Relax. When your husband returns, we can proceed with the divorce. If that's what you want."

"I'll consider it," Leah said. "Thank you very much for your assistance." She rose from her seat. "How much do I owe you?"

"Two-fifty."

Leah raised an eyebrow. "Not five?"

Melfi shook her head, trying to hide an amused smile. Perhaps she was tickled by the fact that someone was questioning such a generous donation. "You were referred to me by Jason Jenks," she explained. "He and I go way back. He helps me out, and I help him out," and then in a tone that left no room for argument. "Two-fifty will be the charge."

"I didn't ask for any favors," Leah grumbled as she walked out of the downtown office building. She cursed when she realized it was raining, and of course, she had forgotten her umbrella.

Jenks chuckled over the phone. "I thought you'd be thanking me. Think of it as a thank you gift for all you have done these past few months to make my life easier."

Leah figured she should accept it. "Thank you."

"You're welcome."

"It's been quite some time since we've discussed Gianna Castellano," Paul remarked later that Friday morning, folding his hands top of the investigative reports on his desk. The reports had all of the findings from Leah, Jacob, and Embry, but he wanted to hear it from their mouths. "So, tell me what you got."

"Surprisingly, we believe that we may be onto something," Jacob said, looking at Leah, waiting for her to start. "We were able to gather a lot of good information."

"Gianna was involved with Demetri. She would have one anything for him, including luring people to his lair," Leah said. "As well as participating in threesomes... which also included Jessica and Caius."

"He's one of the Volturi's main guys," Embry added.

"She was the one who introduced Jessica to Demetri with promises that if she... satisfies him, she would receive the bite," Leah carried on. "Jessica was getting frustrated with Carlisle's refusal to change her—"

"Not because he didn't want to," Jacob added. "But because Esme wouldn't allow him to."

"A real romantic," Embry mumbled under his breath.

Paul leaned back in his chair, twirling a pen between his fingers. "How do the UV's play a role?"

"We don't really know," Embry admitted. "I mean, it's so confusing, but we're positive it was an arms deal gone wrong. Not only because people were killed, but also, the bullets found in the hotel room were of a lower grade, according to Dr. Yorkie's supernatural expert. It wouldn't have even done a damn thing to a newborn vampire."

"So, they were worthless?"

"Pretty much," Jacob said. "Which is why it's so confusing. Why would the Volturi want that? Why would Jessica risk her life by handing dud-bullets to a high-ranking member of a rival crime family? How did she obtain it—"

"Unless it was all a trap," Leah interjected.

"Set by whom?"

Leah took a moment to think. Like Jacob said, the Cullens and the Volturi would never, ever, do business with each other. The deal had to have been a farce from the get-go. In the back of her mind, names, Esme and Edward, were on repeat... but she couldn't prove a thing. She didn't have an ounce of evidence.

"I don't have the..." Leah stopped to gather her words. "What if the Cullen's found out about Jessica's rendezvous with Demetri? That would have pissed them off, right? Not only was she messing around with someone besides Carlisle, but she was doing so with a mortal enemy."

"You think Carlisle set this up?"

Leah shook her head. She was a homicide detective, and if there was one thing she knew, women tended to be more creative when it came to setting up someone's demise. And they managed to do it alone or at least with a limited amount of people. Usually someone loyal to them. Someone like Edward.

"It makes sense..." Jacob reluctantly agreed. Leah knew he had more questions than answers. Admittedly, so did she. "And Gianna was probably the collateral."

"They didn't need a witness," Embry added.

"What about the dealers?"

"The video, at the very, very end showed two men walking towards the elevator lobby," Leah told the captain. "Without the suitcases. They were walking quite briskly like they wanted to flee, but not look so obvious."

"So, when did she die?"

"Based on Bella's findings, they were intimate right before shit hit the fan," Jacob said. "According to rumors from our C.I., Demetri was into some kinky shit. Knife-play, gun-play. Bondage— he frequented this hotel, and the manager knew about it."

"The manager was paid off significantly for his silence and a promise that Demetri would always get the most secluded room."

"The room was reserved under Jessica's name."

"It always was reserved under the lay-for-the-night's name," Leah pointed out. "And it wasn't just women. Men, usually on the younger side, too. But they were mostly prostitutes, according to our C.I. I suppose it makes sense; the police don't have the best track record investigating crimes against sex workers."

"Are you implying that Demetri was a serial killer?"

Leah shrugged. "Would it be that far fetch?" she wondered. "But like I said, this was all rumors. Hearsay. At this moment, we have two victims who were murdered at LaPush."

"How did Gianna die?"

"We don't have a body," Jacob said. "But based on what we have from the photos and the blood spatter, numerous lacerations to the jugular. With a knife or a blade."

"And how did Jessica get mutilated?" Paul asked. "By Demetri, too?"

"We don't know," Leah admitted. "We figured this all happened within an hour. Demetri could have left as soon as he was done. Took Gianna... for dinner, I suppose." She swallowed down a lump at her throat; she thought after all these years at the police department that she would have been desensitized, but apparently, not. "He left Jessica behind because the room was assigned under her name."

"And then someone came in and finished the job," Jacob said. "We don't have any tapes from that time frame. All coincidentally destroyed."

"Bring the head of security in."

"We plan to," Jacob said. "But only as a cooperating witness. He'll probably get something for obstruction, but he did provide us the earlier tapes without much of a fight. I say we got easy on him. Who we need to go after is the hotel manager who goes by the name of Andrew Sullivan."

"The later tapes wouldn't have been destroyed without his direction," Embry said. "He accepted brides, knowing what shit was going down. So, how about an arrest warrant? With the charges being tampering with evidence, obstruction, and bribery?"

"Can throw in promoting prostitution at property charge for good measure," Jacob added. "Or as a threat."

"I can get you one by this afternoon," Paul vowed. "Let's attract the least amount of media coverage as possible. It's a workday; he's most likely going to be at the hotel right now."

"You have the right to remain silent," Leah told Andrew Sullivan as she and Jacob led the manager out of the hotel. The Miranda rights should have been read inside Sullivan's office, but the commotion didn't permit it. He wasn't being very cooperative, had even thought it was an excellent idea to swing a fist at Embry. "Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have a right to an attorney..."

"Go to Hell!" Andrew exclaimed, struggling to get out of Leah and Jacob's grasps.

Jacob rolled his eyes. "You're not helping your case, Sullivan. Just let the detective finish reading your rights, and then, you can provide us a lovely monologue about how you're innocent."

"I didn't do anything."

"Well, besides the obstruction and the bribery charges," Embry said behind the trio, disregarding the curious crowd forming around them as they walked to the police car. "You did assault me."

"I was only defending—"

"You have a right to an attorney," Leah repeated harshly. She sent Jacob and Embry a sharp look, silently telling them to keep their goddamn mouths shut. "If you can't afford an attorney, one will be provided for you..."

In the distance, Leah could see a news van speeding towards the hotel. Of course, the media got wind of the arrest. It shouldn't have been surprising. Several moments might have passed since the Dahlia murder, but the LaPush Hotel was still on the press' radar.

"Mr. Sullivan, we can do this the easy way, or we can do this the hard way. The ball is in your court."

Sitting from Leah and Jacob was Andrew Sullivan—Caucasian male. Aged 49. Average height. Brownish-gray hair and brown eyes. A frequent customer at the tanner salon or proprietor of many spray tan bottles. Married to a homemaker with three children (and rumor has it: a mistress). Brought in on various charges relating to the Dahlia Incident, insisted on feigning nonchalance.

"You have nothing," Andrew claimed quite confidently.

That was what they always said.

Leah sighed and turned her attention to the only other person in the room, Andrew Sullivan's lawyer, Marco Balthazar. A hot-shot defense lawyer with an office in one of the downtown high-rises overlooking the Chicago River. Interesting choice, in Leah's opinion, because even on his salary, Sullivan shouldn't be able to afford Balthazar's services. Yet another reason to look into Sullivan's finances.

Balthazar's expression remained blank.

Leah's attention returned to Sullivan. Fifteen minutes into the questioning had passed, and he still insisted on doing this the hard way. She wished Jacob and Embry were here, only to watch this interrogation; they loved interrogations. But they were both sent away by Paul on another assignment involving the Fang's; they should be back soon, Paul had promised.

"Do you know someone by the name of Demetri Karlov?"

"No."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes."

"Okay," Leah said. She then presented a photo depicting Sullivan and Demetri shaking each other hands; they seemed to have been on friendly terms. "Who is the man in this photo, shaking Demetri's hand?"

Sullivan leaned over and glanced at the photo. "That's not me," he declared, leaning back, crossing his arms. He stole a glance at his lawyer, who held the picture in his hand. Oh, Leah decided, it had been Sullivan, after all.

Leah raised an eyebrow. "That's not you?"

"No."

"Then who is shaking Demetri's hand?" Leah asked with a tilt of her head. "Do you have a twin or a doppelganger we don't know about?"

Balthazar looked at Leah and then back at his client. He sighed. "Detective, can we have an aside?" he requested.

Leah nodded and motioned for a guard to come in, to make sure Sullivan behaved himself. "Sure."

"You are giving my client a hard time," Balthazar said when the interview door was closed behind them. There were people around, but no one was paying attention to them. "He's not wanted for murder one, you know."

"Your client needs to work on his lying," Leah told Balthazar. "We can work with him only if he decides to work with us."

"What are you talking about? Charges-wise?"

"I can't make any promises right now," Leah said. "But how about a plea to a lesser charge? Our ASA—you've heard of Jason Jenks, yes?"

Balthazar stood up tall and squared his shoulders. "Of course."

"Well, we all can come up with a suitable cooperative package for Sullivan," Leah reasoned. "If, and only if, he talks. To be honest with you, Balthazar, it's not looking good for him."

Balthazar snorted. "For his involvement in a murder that he was not privy to?"

"Try double murder," Leah said. "He's connected to numerous crimes, including but not limited to aiding the solicitation of prostitution. Plus, bribery charges may or may not be connected to a federal investigation, which includes illegal arms, blood feuds, kidnapping, money laundering, extortion... You've heard of RICO, right?"

The question affronted Balthazar. "I am a licensed lawyer, Detective."

"Good," Leah said curtly. "He works with us; we won't hand him over to the feds on a silver platter. That's the offer, in short."

Balthazar wanted to challenge Leah, but eventually, his resolve deflated. "I would like to have a conference with my client."

Leah tried not to smirk. "Take your time."

"Did you threaten to rip his junk off?" Martinez asked the moment Sullivan was whisked away fifteen minutes later. He had been standing on the other side of the one-sided mirror. "I can't believe he folded so quickly. I thought he had potential, you know."

"RICO charges can scare even the most hardened of criminals," Leah told the other detective as she closed the interview door behind her. She ignored the inquisitive (and for some reason, annoyed) looks from the other cops, most, for some reason, had an issue with her; they could mind their own business. "Look at him," she taunted, watching Sullivan flinch as another guarded perp in handcuffs glared at him as he walked past. "He wouldn't last a week in federal prison."

"Keep this up, and Paul won't let you return to Violent Crimes," Martinez said.

"It's not his call," Leah said.

"Oh, he can make it happen," Martinez insisted, greeting Jacob and Embry with his cup. Both cops were heading their way. "Make sure you tell your partners the good news, will you?"

"Of course."

"Still spying on Mallory?"

"I'm not spying on her."

She might be little.

But in Leah's defense, it wasn't like she was stalking the woman. She was only keeping an eye on Lauren, for her protection, through her social media accounts. On which Lauren was extremely active. She was more of an Instagram user, though she occasionally posted on the usual networks, Facebook, Twitter, and Snapchat. All accounts were public, so she didn't have to necessarily ask anyone for a subpoena—not that Paul would give a damn.

Leah wished Lauren had updated her privacy policy on her profiles, especially since she was involved in a major investigation... but apparently, as far as Lauren was concerned, common sense was overrated.

At least, she seemed to have deleted all of her photos with Jessica, except for one taken in front of LaPush in January of 2017. It wasn't anything special, but it had tugged on Leah's heartstrings, knowing that a year later, Jessica would be murdered in that same hotel.

"Anything?" Jacob asked as he broke off a half of a bacon-egg-and-cheese sandwich before handing it to his partner.

Leah would be forever grateful for the donation; it was almost ten in the morning. Three hours since she had arrived at work (eight hours since she had returned from her much-needed trip to New York), and her stomach could only account for a small cup of mediocre coffee she had gulped down before entering the station.

"Nothing noteworthy. Last night she went to a YouTube-celebrity birthday party," she said, sifting through Lauren's Instagram posts— twenty-nine new ones since ten last night. "Looked entertaining."

Jacob raised an eyebrow. "On a Tuesday night?"

"I guess so," Leah shrugged and closed out of the app. "Judging on her never-ending posts on everything she's done, I'm assuming she still hasn't gotten herself a lawyer."

"You don't need a lawyer to tell you to shut up after ratting to the police," Jacob pointed out. "Did she talk about anything relating to this investigation?"

"Thank goodness, no," Leah said. At least, for Lauren's sake. In a rare flash of intelligence, there was nothing mentioned about her rendezvous to Nebraska. She took a bite of the sandwich and asked, "Any news from Mike?"

"Got charged. Plead not guilty, as expected. The court date is set for August, but Jenks is working on a plan to squeeze in a plea deal before trial starts," Jacob explained. "Mike's now out on bail."

"Until September," Leah confirmed with a frown. "Why so far away?"

"You know the courts are always backed up. That's why Jenks wants him to accept the plea."

Even with his hot-lawyer, Mike just accepted his fate and pled guilty. It might be a controversial stance to have, Leah knew that, especially with everything that was going on (and goodness knows, the Chicago Police Department didn't need another lawsuit), but the writing was on the wall. If it hadn't been for some under-the-table deals, Mike would be in prison, and Leah knew Jenks was going to use that against him.

Leah shook his head. "He shouldn't have been released on bail," she declared. "Mike belongs in Cook County Jail."

"Leah, I know he's important to the investigation, but it's not like he's been charged with murder-one. We don't have the right. Like isn't that a violation of the Eighth Amendment?"

"Sorio could have done something," Leah argued. "He's done it before."

"Yet another reason why the feds are investigating him."

Right. The federal case. A case that under normal circumstances would have caught the attention of many, but was on the back burner because of everything else.

Leah shook her head. "I feel like—" She paused to take a deep breath. "I don't have a good feeling about this. Do you?"

Jacob hesitated to reply. Perhaps because he didn't want to admit that he was thinking the same thing. He had mentioned quite a few times about Lauren's lack of judgment for not accepting witness protection.

"I'm trying to stay optimistic," he finally said, staring out in the distance. His words carried emptiness as if he didn't believe a damn word he had said. Like he had just told them to save face. "You should, too."

Leah didn't think it would be possible as far as this investigation was concerned. But she supposed that taking Jacob's advice would be worth the try.

"What happened that night?"

Leah waited for an answer to Jacob's question, but in actuality, she did not expect much. Mike had gotten himself a damn good defense lawyer. No one would be talking until a deal was on the table, and no deal would be made until later that week when Jenks would come to pay a visit.

Mike didn't say a word. Legally speaking, smart man. He was sitting up straight in his chair with his hands folded on the table. He was modestly dressed, unlike him, and void of much emotion, definitely unlike him. Beside him was his lawyer, Travis Shapiro, a man who had made it known that nothing was going to pass him.

Leah would let Jacob run this questioning session. He tended to get under the former lounge owner's skin, even on the best or worst of days.

"As we have mentioned minutes before, Detective," Shapiro replied in a sharp tone. There was just something so smug about the man that Leah wanted to punch off. He and his stupidly-expensive suit and white gold cuff links. "When my client gets a satisfactory deal on the table, we will reconsider the plea, and only then, will your answers be answered."

"It's a simple question," Jacob retorted.

"And I have provided you with a simple answer," Shapiro said, looking straight into Jacob's eyes, unmoved by the detective's glare.

"He's an asshole."

"He's always been an asshole," Leah reminded Jacob as they both watched Mike Newton walk away with Shapiro. "That's nothing new."

"Do you know how much he charges per hour?"

"More than Mike should be able to afford, based on last year's tax returns."

Jacob scoffed. "And how the hell did you get your hands on those?"

"You're not the only person who knows people, Jacob," Leah said with a smirk.

"Did you at least get a subpoena for it?"

Leah's smirk grew.

"You know what," Jacob said, seeing the light. "Forget I even asked."

"Smart man," Leah said, patting her partner's shoulder. "Smart man."