November 26, 2038
The day after Thanksgiving was Andy's day off, and Natalie wanted to spend it with just the two of them. She wanted to walk through the plaza and see the local shops, which she hadn't been able to visit since she left Detroit years ago. Andy had no qualms about giving the day to her.
"Are you ready yet?" Natalie was excited. She'd been up two hours ahead of store hours, and was making herself busy throughout the house in wait.
Andy glanced to the door from the edge of her bed, tying the lace on her boots. "Give me a minute," She yelled.
"I've given you twenty-nine years of minutes!" Andy rolled her eyes, and seconds later, Natalie added, "Oh, and I want to stop by the bank first, then we can go to a nice café for lunch."
It was never that simple with Natalie. Andy rolled her eyes, mumbling under her breath, "Which means dessert, which means wine, and then you have to walk off the wine through the park, and oh look! What a lovely busker! We should go see a show tonight! But then we'll need to have dinner first-"
A ringing phone cut her off as she moved to open her bedroom door. It was not the usual ring of her regular phone, but a tune she hadn't heard in a while. She'd almost forgotten it completely, but now she was staring at her end table in shock.
She rushed across the room and pulled the burner phone from the drawer. It wasn't a number she recognized. She answered it, pausing a moment to collect herself. "Yeah?"
"Vicky! Finally...," Came an exhausted sigh of relief.
Her plans for the day were fast vanishing. "Sharon?" Andy stressed, eyes widening.
The woman Andy once worked for ignored the reaction. She was speaking in a calm but hushed tone, asking, "Are you good?"
"I-" Andy shook her head, trying to return to the mental state of being Victoria Palmer. It hadn't been that long since she was transferred to Homicide, but with everything that was going on, it already felt like a lifetime. "Yeah, barely. This whole thing's gone to shit."
Sharon scoffed. "Tell me about it. I've been hitch-hiking and bus hopping across the damn country just to get back home under the radar."
It explained why SID hadn't found Sharon yet. Considering she was returning from the south when the sting went down, they were beginning to accept she'd gone to Mexico. "Are you sure that's a good idea?" Andy asked, feigning concern for Sharon's freedom, "I mean, the cops have pretty much taken everything, and everyone not in cuffs has scattered."
"Please, give me some credit. I'm not coming back to stay," Sharon confirmed. "Are you still in Detroit?"
Yep, Andy thought, Mom's gonna kill me. She was preparing herself for that conversation as she carried on with Sharon. "Yeah, I haven't left."
The sound of a bus stopping came through the other end of the call, and Andy heard Sharon rustling in her seat. "Good. I'm going to be at the café in forty-five minutes. Be there. It'll be worth it."
"Uh, I- W- Sharon?" The line went dead, and Andy cursed under her breath as she dug through pockets for her main phone.
Seconds after dialing, Richards picked up her call. "You know you're not working today, right?" He joked, barring any formal greeting.
Andy was just as abrupt, though for different reasons. "Sharon called me."
The humor faded quickly. "What?"
She repeated herself, keeping her voice low because of her mother in the next room, "Sharon called. She still thinks I'm Vicky, and she wants to meet at the café."
"She's in Detroit right now?"
"Apparently. I don't know what she wants, but she's not planning on staying in Detroit," She answered.
"Maybe one last job," He wondered, offering, "We could have officers waiting for her at the café."
She shook her head. Nick may have fallen for a sting, but Sharon was a harder target than her brother. "I don't know, she's too smart for that."
"Yeah, I agree," He sighed. It was with a hesitant tone that he asked, "You want to pull out Miss Palmer one more time?"
When Andy left her bedroom, Natalie was standing in the kitchen, putting away her silverware. Noticing her daughter, she waved her hand and asked, "What took you so long? Let me just wash up and I'll be ready."
She moved to the sink, but Andy stepped forward and began, "Uh, well, about that-"
Natalie's immediate dead stare was exactly what Andy expected to see. "What is it?" She asked, a frown setting on her face. Andy tried to reply, but found herself growing more nervous. "Andrea?" Natalie urged.
Finally Andy spit out, "Do you remember the guy I told you I started working for last year?"
"The one who tried to kill you?" Natalie asked, pursing her lips.
With a grunt, Andy said, "Glad I don't have trauma about that because you just put it out there, huh?" She shook her head and went on to explain, "He has a sister. Had. Has? He's dead, she's not, and she thinks I'm still a contact."
Natalie was not as enthusiastic as her daughter was over this information. "Yippee," She retorted, her voice monotone.
Despite the reaction, Andy pressed on. "She called and she wants to meet in half an hour."
"I was under the impression you're back on homicide now," Natalie argued, crossing her arms over her chest.
"I am! But...," Andy trailed off. This was fast becoming an argument that would linger over them for days, and the last thing she wanted was for Natalie to leave Detroit angry. Sharon's voice was in her head, though, and she couldn't let the opportunity pass her by. She tried to make her mother understand that, arguing, "I wouldn't go if it wasn't important-"
Natalie threw up a hand, interrupting, "That's the problem, Andrea, it's always important!"
"Exactly!" She agreed. When Natalie's stare shifted to one of disappointment and frustration, Andy grimaced. She'd seen that look a lot, but she never knew what it meant. Pointing, she complained, "See, there's that thing you do where it sounds like you agree with me, but then you look at me like that, like I've missed some big point you were trying to make."
Natalie's shoulders drooped. "This is my last day here. Work is always going to call; you have to learn when to turn off the phone and focus on your life."
"This is my life!" Andy exclaimed.
It was the wrong thing to say, and she didn't need her mother's sad eyes burning holes into her to tell her that. She took in a deep breath, raising her hands to signal she needed a moment. Once her thoughts were organized, she began in a calmer voice, "Was. It was my life. And this isn't a small thing, okay? Nick, the- the guy who was in charge, the one who-"
"The dead one."
"Yeah- Him. He may have had his name on all this, but the sister? She was the brains of the whole thing. She's just as important as Nick was, if not more. I can't leave this case while it's still half open," She finished.
Natalie still wasn't convinced. "Why can't you?" She asked her daughter plainly.
They were going to go in circles until Natalie heard what she wanted to hear, but Andy couldn't give that to her. "I'm sorry, but I am going to that meeting."
That was that, then. Andy was done with the discussion, and Natalie recognized as much.
"Fine."
"Fine."
The Saint Clair Café was a corner shop located in the center of Greektown. The local cyber café sold not much more than expensive coffee, and until recent events, was run with android staff. It had its fair share of regular patrons, and one of those happened to be Sharon Weaver. She used the establishment for innocuous business meetings, with potential dealers of not only red ice but black market artwork. It was not odd for her to have Andy meet her there from time to time.
She was sitting at her usual table, the one closest to the back door. Andy spotted her familiar red hair and started to approach, and Sharon crossed the room to meet her halfway. She went in for a tight hug, patting Andy's back and whispering into her ear, "Let's walk."
They pulled apart, and Andy followed her out of the café. Together, they circled around the fountain in Greektown at a casual pace. Sharon talked about many irrelevant things, from the quality of her coffee to the traffic coming into Detroit. They were all things that would make any passerby assume the two of them were innocent women shopping.
The chatter died down as they stepped foot in the park across the street, and found their way to a bench not far from one of the playgrounds. They were at a safe distance from other people relaxing in the area, but still close enough to the foot traffic to not stand out.
"I left an emergency stash in my old office. Money, ice, IDs. Everything to start over," Sharon explained. She crossed her arms, shifting in her seat to get comfortable. "I'll be recognized, so I need you to get it for me."
It wasn't surprising that Sharon had a stash in case things took a turn for the worst, but now Andy wondered if it was the only one out there. "Anyone else know about this?"
"Unless Nick couldn't keep his mouth shut, no," Sharon huffed with a bitter grin. "There's a wall panel behind the filing cabinet and then a safe. You know the combination."
"I'll take care of it," Andy assured her.
Sharon smiled and agreed, "I know. And I just want the money. You can keep everything else." A child ran by, and they watched the father follow after them before Sharon glanced to Andy and mused, "Hope you didn't have plans today."
Andy scoffed. There was an argument waiting for her back home, and if she focused on it, she could feel her mother's irritation all the way from the park. "My family's visiting, but I told them I had to work," She admitted.
She watched as Sharon pulled an electronic cigarette from her jacket pocket. She brought it to her lips, asking just before she inhaled, "You still good with your folks?"
Depends on your definition of good, Andy mused to herself. Shrugging, she answered, "They put up with me, anyway."
With a faint smile, Sharon said, "Sounds like you've got some good people."
There was a vendor just at the edge of the Greektown plaza, and they could see it from where they sat. Nodding her head toward him, Andy retorted, "I'll sell 'em to you for a hot dog." Sharon laughed, and they settled into a comfortable silence.
Andy took the downtime to think of her game plan and collect herself. Working for Sharon as long as she did, she'd learned a lot of details about the woman, such as the meeting spots and the combinations she used. Remembering those little details now felt strange - they returned to her so naturally, but also came with a vague feeling of panic. She wasn't sure where the line was that kept her from diving full force into the life of Victoria Palmer, but she knew she didn't want to near it. She wasn't sure she could come back next time.
"How have you been?" Andy asked, putting aside the concern.
Scoffing, Sharon muttered, "Ugh, you don't want to talk about that."
"I do! Everyone's gone to the wind, or they're arrested," Andy threw up a hand as she complained.
With a long sigh, Sharon gave in. "I've got some opportunities lined up for my old appraisal work, but if that falls through, I don't know what I'm going to do. I never got back into our place so I'm just going off whatever cash we had out of state."
So there were more stashes, but they were scattered, no doubt all across the country. "I'm just surprised Nick had cash that wasn't under his nose at all times."
Sharon pointed to herself. "My idea. All the good ones were." A scowl flashed across her features as nostalgia crept into the conversation. Thinking about her brother, she huffed. "I told him trading plastics would bite him in the ass one day, and look what happened. He just couldn't stick to what we did best. No, he had to go the extra mile which meant we needed more space and next thing you know, we've got a warehouse with enough stock to go into retail."
Tapping the butt of her cigarette, she muttered, "He ruined everything." Looking up at Andy, she asked, "Did you know I had to find out about this mess from the morning news? Bastard couldn't even call to let me know the warehouse was raided. He just went on the run and left me to take the heat."
It sounded like Nick, Andy thought. That was the kind of person he was. Sharon was going to be his scapegoat from the very beginning. "Wants all the credit till it's the police knocking, right?"
Sharon chuckled, but took in a deep drag of her e-cigarette. She lifted her head, blowing out a long stretch of vapor toward the clouds before she spoke again. "Wish I shot the motherfucker, myself."
It was no secret that the Weaver siblings were often at odds. Nick was paranoid, impulsive, and selfish; Sharon was cunning, organized, and loyal. She was her own brad of unpredictable, but always with a considerable amount of calculation. It inspired a tension between even their employees - Jason was Nick's and Andy was Sharon's, and everyone knew it.
Despite all of that, Andy never expected it to run this deep. "Shit," She mumbled in shock.
Humming, Sharon looked back to her. "Still want to sell me your family?"
Andy took a few heavy seconds to consider her next words. Shrugging, she replied, "Maybe two hot dogs?"
Sharon laughed, as if heavy confessions weren't hanging in the air between them.
They sat together until Sharon finished smoking. She was the first to go, heading for the plaza, and Andy left soon after in the opposite direction. She came to an abrupt stop just outside the park entrance, however, as she found a familiar face.
"Connor?"
The android detective had been watching people pass by on the street as he waited. Because of how sudden Sharon returned, SID wasn't prepared for another round of undercover work. It left them without proper backup, so it was inevitable that Richards would turn to Connor, SID's unofficial consultant.
He was in a heated argument with Hank over healthy eating when the call came in, and he started to decline the request until Andy's name was dropped. He wouldn't let her do this alone no matter the circumstances, but after his revelations yesterday, he especially wanted to be there.
He stood to face her on the sidewalk, and they closed in on one another. "Lieutenant Richards asked for my help. Sharon is back?" He asked quietly.
Accepting the help without hesitation, Andy gestured to the side as she told him, "She's got a stash at her old office. She wants me to get it for her."
He let her pass and started following her down the road. "If she has one stash in town, she probably has more," He theorized, his brows furrowing.
"Yeah, that's what I'm thinking, too," She agreed with a nod.
"I'm coming with you."
Andy stopped at the corner of the street with a faint frown. "Or you could keep an eye on Sharon?" She suggested, waving a hand toward the plaza, which was still in view. Sharon couldn't have made it that far yet, as she would have wait for a cab nearby. It was the optimal time to start trailing her.
There was no telling how much danger Andy would be walking into, though. Connor was firm, stating, "The lieutenant told me to stay with you, not watch her."
It was more trouble than it was worth to stand there and dispute it. Time was ticking, so she shrugged and conceded, "Fine, but you're paying for parking."
The Ferndale Museum of Art was the closest thing Michigan had to the Museum of Modern Art in New York. They showcased local works, many of which were donated by some of the state's most influential people. Elijah Kamski, for instance, had his own collection of works he gave to the museum, resulting in an entire wing of the museum named after him.
It was a short ride there from Greektown. Andy pulled into a neighboring parking garage, and she and Connor headed for the back of the museum. They turned the corner, where an employee entrance was located, and she went for the door.
Connor followed her inside the employee's hallway, muttering, "This being unlocked is a security risk." Andy stopped to glance over her shoulder at him, chuckling to herself.
The hall was empty, though they could hear the faint sounds of people typing at keyboards in their offices. She took them to the second to last office on the left, where a plaque with Sharon's name was on the wall next to it. It surprised Connor that the office was still there for her. She'd been working with Nick for years at this point. "She has the museum convinced she still works here?"
"That's Sharon, always thinking ahead," Andy mused, working to pick the lock.
Getting the door open, they stepped inside and took a brief moment to look around. "You said this is the first time she's been back since she went to Mexico?" Connor asked.
She nodded, unaware of the clues around them. "According to her."
The computer on the desk was powered down, and the shelves behind it were empty. There were no documents or binders, nor personal decorations. A couch sat in one corner by the door, its fine leather collecting a thin layer of dust. The room appeared to have been untouched in some time, but Connor could pinpoint the minuscule details most couldn't, such as recent fingerprints on the edge of the desk, and a faint scrape on the floor by the filing cabinet.
He turned and told her, "Someone's been in here, recently."
Andy's expression fell, and she bit back a curse. Moving across the room to the cabinet Connor was focused on, she pushed it aside and pressed a hand against the wall. A seamless panel slid down, and out of the way of the built-in safe. She entered a four-digit combination and the door popped open, revealing an empty safe.
They stared at it until Connor asked, "Who else knows about this?"
With a deep frown and furrowed brows, she shook her head. "They shouldn't."
They left through the backdoor and returned to the museum by the main entrance. Andy went looking for the staff, leaving Connor to himself in one of the exhibits. He circled around the room, coming to a stop at one of the paintings on the wall.
He was there for several minutes before she approached him. She held a pamphlet in her hands, looking over basic tourist information about Ferndale. "So I sweet talked the custodian," She started, gesturing to the doorway, "She said she saw someone in the halls last night. I think it was Tommy, one of the runners. Pretty low on the chain, but he gets the job done. It wouldn't surprise me if Jason knew about the safe, and sent him."
Connor pulled the name from Sam's memory, and thought to the lanky young man who traversed all of Michigan making contacts and selling to casual buyers. He was also someone SID had yet to catch, in part because he wasn't a priority, and in part because until now, he'd been keeping his head low.
While it was certainly a possibility that Jason knew about the safe, Connor didn't buy that that was the end of it. Frowning, he said, "The timing of this isn't right. How would they know Sharon was going to be back in town today?"
Andy agreed. She shrugged and said, "There's one way to find out. If Tommy's holding ice, I know where he'll be."
Connor nodded, but remained where he was. It took her a second to notice his attention was elsewhere, and her gaze followed his to a painting on the wall. With wide strokes and soft colors, there were two hands on a blue background, both outstretched toward each other; one, android, lowering itself from the light above; another, human, fighting its way out of darkness.
"It's a beautiful piece," Andy praised, glancing to Connor.
He didn't look her way, still focused on the sight in front of him. "Markus mentioned it once. He painted it shortly before Carl Manfred died."
She noticed the plaque underneath the painting. The series it joined in the museum was one credited to Carl. The others were undeniably his, but this one was different, and it was titled In Memoriam - the last painting of a late artist. "Guess no one thought the android was learning," She mused.
"He shouldn't have been. Knowledge is easy to produce, but we weren't supposed to be creative," Connor refuted. He was close to awe as he pondered, "He was doing this even before he was deviant. I wonder if it was because of his environment, or because Elijah Kamski made him that way."
She didn't know enough to tell him it was one way or the other, but she had plenty of experience with deviants by now to have theories of her own. "The girls at the Eden Club weren't supposed to love each other. You weren't supposed to let them run," She told him, shrugging. "I'd bet everyone at Jericho's got stories of doing things they shouldn't have been able to - it's the same canvas, different painting."
The poetry was out of character for her, and it surprised him. He smiled a little, pointing out, "You sound like your mother."
This comparison, and the reminder of her less than pleasant morning, brought a scoff to her lips. "Ugh. She would've bought this, too. Put it right in the middle of her office and used it in her speeches," She accused, pointing to In Memoriam. Slapping the pamphlet against his arm, she nodded toward the exit. "Come on."
Andy and Connor left the museum and went to the Motel Six, a cheap motel along the edge of the city mainly used for midnight rest-stops and long-term stay. The parking lot was almost empty when they arrived. Many of the long-term guests didn't have their own transportation, and the ones who did were either working or looking for it.
They parked at the curb near the front building, and walked into a dimly lit lobby where a man relaxed behind the counter. He glanced up upon hearing the door open, tiling his chin to meet them. "Hey."
Andy kept her cool, leaning in to ask, "Tommy check in yet?"
He nodded his head toward the window looking out at the motel parking lot. "He's in 104."
"Thanks," She replied, slapping her palm on the counter. She turned and left the lobby, with Connor not far after her.
Room 104 was on ground level, on the left side of the building and facing out to the street. Nothing looked out of the ordinary as they walked up to the door, but Connor was worried that was intentional. "This might be a trap," He warned the detective at his side.
Her knuckles rapped on the door as she asked, "You think he's going to open up and I'll get sprayed with bullets?" His unamused glare was answer enough. They waited a moment longer with no answer before Andy sighed. "He probably ran for it by now."
Yet again that day, she resorted to her lockpicks, her work hidden from view of outsiders by hers and Connor's bodies. This door was easier than the one in the museum, which she decided was both unsurprising but disappointing. She got it unlocked and twisted the knob to step inside, but Connor slid between her and the door.
It was a pointed stare he sent her, one that left little room for argument. He was going in first. She stepped back and lifted her arms in surrender, waiting for him to give the clear.
Connor moved into the empty motel room, scanning over every corner for any sign of a trap, be it weapons, explosives, or even a camera. By the window, a backpack sat on the floor under the table, which held little besides a powered down cellphone and a crumpled fast food wrapper. On the dresser to the left was a jacket and a magazine, and the king-sized bed had been left unmade.
"Does it pass your inspections?"
He rolled his eyes at Andy, who was grinning in the doorway behind him. Nonetheless, he moved aside and allowed her into the room. "He hasn't left town," He told her as he crossed the space to check the bathroom.
Andy noticed all the larger details he had, and went for the phone on the table. "Yeah, doesn't seem like it," She agreed. She left the phone off for the time being, kneeling down to search through the backpack. Most of the contents were clothes, but in the pouch near the top was some loose cash and a bag of IDs. Some already contained photos of Sharon or Nick, but the rest were blank templates, and the find confirmed that it was Tommy who broke into the safe.
There was more evidence to that in the bathroom, where Connor identified scattered bits of red ice in the sink bowl. More damning were the specks of blood, a poorly cleaned trail of which led out of the sink and across the bathroom floor. He followed it to the tub, where he pulled back the curtain and found the man they were looking for.
Outside the bathroom, Andy attempted to go through Tommy's phone, but the power had been drained completely. There was a knot forming in her gut over this, and she sighed, calling out to Connor, "He wouldn't have left any of this behind. Something's up."
A second later, he leaned out of the bathroom and looked to her with faint concern. "Andy." She turned to him, and he said in a quiet voice, "It's Tommy."
With a dead body on their hands now, and missing cash, Andy had no choice but to call Richards at that point. Within minutes, Hank, Richards, and a CSI unit showed up at the Motel Six to seize the crime scene. Andy and Connor retreated before they arrived, and the two of them waited across the street inside a fast food restaurant, watching through the windows.
At least, Andy was watching through the windows. Connor's eyes were on her. She hadn't said much since they found Tommy, but she was playing it off as focus on her work.
Tommy wasn't a friend of hers, and she wasn't Victoria Palmer anymore, but Connor believed her knew well enough by now to know she was still upset. It didn't take an autopsy to see that Tommy had been struck in the head and carried into the tub where his last moments were. It wasn't an overdose - someone killed him. Someone killed a man she knew.
"How are you handling this?"
She blinked a few times, turning away from the window. The question caught her off guard, but she recovered quickly. This wasn't the time to talk about it. She was sure it would come up later at her next therapy session, but until then, she would keep her eyes forward. "I'm fine," She dismissed, returning to the window, "You don't need to do that."
"I know," He replied. She glanced back at him, and was met with a steady, patient stare.
It almost unwound her, but then the door to the restaurant opened, and Hank and Richards entered. Andy shifted and nodded to them in greeting, but Hank returned it with an annoyed frown as they approached. "Next time we get a day off, just stay in bed, will ya?" He complained, he and Richards pulling chairs out to sit down.
She held out her hands and started to defend herself, but gave up with an exasperated sigh. Hank was just being Hank, and he'd get over it. "What do we have?" She asked.
"Coroner's taking the body now, but the autopsy's just gonna tell us what we already know. It was multiple hits to the head, and the body's stiff," Hank answered with a shrug.
"So he was killed last night," Andy concluded.
Richards placed a tablet on the table in front of him. "Ben transferring the phone's data, but in the meantime," He pulled something from his pocket, holding it out to Andy. It was a small brown matchbook, with a cod engraved into the cover. "We found this in his pocket."
As Hank was delving into complaints about the lack of other evidence, Andy's burner phone began to ring. She had no chance to speak upon answering it, because Sharon's first words were a stern, "You're late."
Andy told her simply, "The safe was empty."
There was a short pause; it was the beginning of a storm. "That shit told someone-" Sharon cut her own ranting off, and inhaled a deep breath that could be heard on the other end of the line. "Who has my money?" She asked through gritted teeth.
"Tommy got into the safe," Andy replied, leaning her elbow on the table, "I found him, but he's dead."
This silence was longer than the last, though less cold. Sharon was running through different scenarios in her mind, no doubt speculating about who was responsible. Andy was beginning to think she'd put the phone down, until Sharon quietly said, "This is Jason."
"Seems like it," Andy agreed.
Sharon went on to mutter under her breath, "But who killed Tommy? Are they working for him too? Was he a loose end- Oh. Oh, that..." She'd interrupted her own thoughts with a sudden realization. With a faint huff, she swore, "I bet you anything it's that fucking lawyer."
This was news to Andy. She glanced to Hank and Richards, asking, "Lawyer? What lawyer?"
Richards straightened in his seat and began to sift through contents on his tablet, but Andy was far more distracted by the rustling on the other end of her call. She could almost hear the waving of Sharon's arms as the woman ranted, "I don't know, Mark Otto- Michael? Whatever the hell his name is. He's the biggest ass kisser I've ever met in my life, and Nick loved him. I thought we'd agreed to cut him out, but I also thought that little worm of a man would have called me if shit went sideways, now didn't I?"
She ran a hand over her mouth and took a moment to collect herself before demanding, "Find him. I don't care what you have to do. I want my money."
A dial tone signaled the end of the conversation. Andy lowered her phone, and shot her group a dry smile. "That went well," She said, dropping her phone onto the table. "Who's Mark Otto?"
Hank shrugged, but Richards waved his hand. "You said lawyer, right?" He asked as he scrolled through his tablet. Finding what he wanted, he turned the screen around to show her a file on a salt-and-pepper haired man in his forties. "About a week ago, Hart hired a lawyer. Malcolm Otto."
Andy had never heard of or seen this man before, but that was not the same case for Connor. "That's him," He confirmed, nodding. "Sam met him several years ago. Sharon hated him."
Hank gestured forward, asking, "Can we connect him to Tommy?"
"If we can find him in the phone," Richards shrugged.
Slapping a hand on the table, Andy pushed her chair back and stood to her feet. "Well I know where to look in the meantime," She said, tossing the matchbook into the air and catching it in her palm, "Keep me updated."
"What is this place?"
Andy and Connor were walking down the sidewalk, and had come to a stop in front of a small, old-school building. A neon sign reading OPEN dangled in a dark window, the light blinking in and out, and above the door was a wooden board with The Rivershack carved into its surface.
While she was Victoria, she'd been pulled into the smoky interior of this bar a handful of times, but she never liked to stay for long. It was not a place meant for people like her - the bartenders routinely gave cops a hard time, and were suspicious of even some of their most regular patrons. It was never wise for her to linger there.
"The crappiest bar in Detroit," Andy introduced to Connor with a dramatic wave.
The bar ran along the left of the building, starting by the front door and cutting off halfway down the room. A small television was mounted to the wall and played a random sports channel no one gave much attention. Beyond the bar were a row of booths, and two doors, the right of which lead to the alley outside. The bartender was leaning over her counter on her elbows and watching the two newcomers.
Someone else was also watching. In a booth to the far right corner, a hooded man had looked up from his bottle. His eyes met Andy's, and a second later, he shot from the booth and shoved his body against the back door.
"Hey!" Andy yelled at the retreating figure.
Connor was quicker to react, already crossing the room as she started to give chase. He burst the door open, turning on his heel to follow the young man down the alley. It was easy enough to close in on him, and Connor grabbed the back of his jacket, yanking him backwards.
Leo Manfred was slammed against the side of an adjacent building and came face to face with the android, whose hands remained on his jacket collar. Andy was catching up as he struggling to break free. "Hey, get off me, man! I don't know you!"
"Shut up," Andy whined, stopping beside them. "Have you seen Tommy?"
Leo glanced to her and shook his head, muttering, "Shit..." He tried to cut his ties with the runner, protesting, "I don't know what that idiot's thinking, but I didn't buy from him, all right? I told him I wasn't interested. I'm trying to quit!"
It was a proud tone he tackled that statement with, but Connor was inspecting him for a weapon. He lifted a hand to dig into the inner pocket of Leo's jacket, retrieving a small bag of red ice. Connor and Andy delivered a judgmental stare Leo's way, and he shrugged. "It's the last of what I have. What am I supposed to do, flush it?"
As inclined as she was to give him a hard time about it, this wasn't an intervention, and they weren't here for him. He'd confirmed one thing at least: Tommy had been to the Rivershack. With a long sigh, she asked, "What did he say to you?"
"He came in last night talking about how he had Spades Ice. I told him to leave me the hell alone, that if Sharon ever came back, we'd all be dead," Leo answered. He upturned his hands, pleading, "That's it, I swear."
Andy shook her head. In her experience, people like Leo swearing to tell the truth usually led to the polar opposite of that. The one thing she believed so far was that he feared Sharon, so she would put that to good use. "That's not it, and I'm not in the mood for this. Sharon got back this morning - am I bringing her you or Tommy?"
The question drained the color from his face. "Sharon's back?" He asked, glancing to Connor as though he would confirm the news. "Okay, okay-" He stuttered, holding up his hands in surrender.
He appeared to be struggling to remember more details until his eyes widened and he exclaimed, "He- He got a call from someone! Yeah, this... This guy. I don't know who he was, but he was pissed because Tommy was supposed to meet 'em somewhere. He got quiet and took off."
He seemed genuine this time, so Connor looked to Andy, wondering if she thought the same. She nodded, and Leo looked between the two in front of him with growing hope. "So... can I go?"
Andy blinked in surprise. "Oh, no," She said, reaching into her pocket for her handcuffs, "I'm arresting you."
"Wait, what?"
She handed off her cuffs to Connor and let him detain Leo as she went for her phone. While she listened to the ringing, and faintly to Leo's complaining, she followed him and Connor out to the street. Leo was sitting himself down onto the curb when Richards picked up his phone.
"Perfect timing," He joked, "Ben finished the transfer. Malcolm Otto called Tommy at 9:04 last night."
Thinking to the conversation with Leo, Andy corroborated that information, "We got someone here saying the same thing. They were supposed to meet but Tommy bailed."
"That would explain what else I found," Richards snorted, "I got a warrant after we searched Tommy's phone so we could track Malcolm's. He was headed in the direction of the motel but turned it off about three blocks away. He turned it back on just before he went to a nearby restaurant- uh..." After he trailed off, she could hear his finger tapping against a screen. "Farah's, where he happens to be a silent partner. He was there for a few minutes, then went back to his office."
"We'll check it out. Thanks," She said, before glancing to the frustrated young man on the curb. Leo was pouting up at her as she added, "Oh, and, uh, I need a transport for someone."
After an officer arrived to pick up Leo, Andy and Connor set off once again. They went to another area of Detroit, and though it wasn't far from the motel, the environment was vastly different. The streets were packed with fine dining, expensive shops, and clean parks. Farah's was one of said restaurants, tucked between a women's clothing store and a pizzeria.
It was a tall, sleek building, the walls occupied by large windows that revealed wide tables and modern chandeliers hanging overhead. The double doors stood tall, and were decorated with an intricate pattern of glass and oak. A holographic poster drifted over the entrance with Farah's in large stylized script. There was a valet that cost more than the street food Andy ate at work.
She sat atop her bike, staring up at the restaurant. Connor was moving to his feet as she gave a thoughtful hum. "Getting an idea of who Malcolm Otto is. I bet they serve tiny meals on oversized plates with gold truffles. Pfft, I'll take street tacos-" Her eyes widened. "Oh my god, I sound like Hank."
She continued under her breath to herself, but Connor was examining the restaurant. "If he was only here a short time, he didn't stay to eat or talk to the other owners," He pondered.
Andy's grumblings came to a stop and she returned her attention to why they were there in the first place. "You don't think he went in?"
"Why would he?" He asked. His eyes then drifted to the alley at the side of the building, where he spotted their dumpsters at the end of the brick path.
Immediately, he crossed over the curb and headed for the alley. Andy slid off her bike and followed him to the dumpsters, where he lifted a lid and leaned to peer down into the contents. It was a bit of a gamble, but Connor was sure of it. "He was getting rid of evidence," He said, looking to Andy.
Her expression fell as she frowned at the dumpsters. "Oh. Great. Now I'm dumpster-diving."
He shook his head and reached for the other lid to have both open. "I'll do it. It's my lead," He told her before hoisting himself up. She murmured a small but hesitant affirmative, stepping back to give him space to lift his legs over the ledge of the dumpster. He dropped himself into the depths, and started to sift through the contents.
Andy relaxed with her elbows on the ledge, watching as pieces of trash and various bags rustled around. "This doesn't add up for you, either, right?" She asked after a moment, "If Tommy's working for Jason, why kill him? I mean he's squirrelly, sure, but still loyal."
Connor didn't stop in his work when he corrected, "Was. He was squirrelly."
"Right. He was," She quickly agreed in an attempt to brush it off. "Leo said Tommy was talking about having Spades Ice. What if someone else overheard and followed him when he left the bar?"
He nodded. "It would make sense if a third party was involved."
"It'd be a lot more annoying, too. That stash could be anywhere at this point," She complained, rolling her eyes. The conversation died there, leaving Andy to her thoughts as she waited.
The chill in the air was growing harsher and it told her they were going into the late afternoon. It'd been several hours since she left her mother, and she was certain night would fall by the time she was able to return. Their argument drifted to the forefront of her conscience; the events of the day so far were enough to distract her, but their spat was consistently there, hanging over her.
Natalie was a workaholic, in her own way. She didn't stay at the office past hours or cancel plans regularly, but there was always a binder of information she'd bring home at the end of the day. There was always a secret for her to try to uncover within the minds of her family. 'Therapist Mode' was almost a default, and Andy sometimes felt more like a patient than a daughter growing up.
She loved her mother, but she hated that. At one time, there had been childhood promises she made to herself to not be the same way. Work wasn't for home, family, or friends. Work wasn't all there was to life. Then she joined the force, and became so wrapped up in her cases that everything else fell to the sidelines, even before she joined SID. She spoke to fewer friends. She went to the gym less. Going undercover was not the start of her life being consumed by the department, but it was the latest symptom.
Connor threw a box from the bottom of the dumpster to the top, reminding her where she was. She stretched to catch it as it tumbled back down, calling out to him in the process, "You don't think I'm..."
"Hm?"
He was bent down in the recesses of the trash, but she knew he was still listening. "Would you say... Am I..." She wasn't sure what exactly she was trying to ask, or what she wanted to hear. Shaking her head, she mumbled, "I don't know."
The uncertainty was clear in her tone, but he couldn't understand the reason for it. "What's your concern?"
She released a heavy sigh. "Just... thinking." Fidgeting her fingers on the ledge, she said, "I had plans with my mom today, but then this happened."
"She's mad you cancelled," He concluded.
"Go figure," She snorted. "I said something stupid. I thought it wasn't a big deal, but I could see her fixating on it like it was," She confessed.
He wasn't sure if Andy was trying to explain away her self-doubt or admit that it was there, but Connor believed Natalie wouldn't hang on Andy's words if they weren't a big deal. "What did you say?" He asked.
She shifted on her feet, telling him, "I- I said this case is my life."
Ah. He understood now. It was one of the few crises he could relate to, as he'd been going through it himself. Spending the majority of your life working on one thing, having only one focus, often left you blind to the world around you and confused at the end of the tunnel. You didn't know what else there was. You didn't know who you were. It was some comfort to him to know that identity was on more minds than just his.
Seconds later, he straightened his back and stood to meet her at eye level from inside the dumpster. She jolted a little at the abrupt movement, but also because stuck to the side of his face, dangling from his hairline, was half of a banana peel. She blinked a few times, her eyes glued to the foreign object.
Connor wasn't aware of the mess on his person. He was genuinely trying to comfort her as he said, "I may not be the best person to ask, but there's more to you than your work."
She smiled, and it was only partially because of the sight of him. "Why wouldn't I ask you?"
He shared his own version of the same problem now, explaining, "Until recently, I was only my work. I'm not sure I'm qualified to measure the quality of other people's lives when I'm trying to understand my own."
Andy considered his words before shrugging. "Trying to broaden your horizons is exactly why you are the person to judge that," She replied. She reached out, and he tensed as her hand neared him. He didn't know what to expect or how to react until her fingers gingerly grasped something and she plucked a banana peel from his hair.
She chuckled to herself as she dropped the peel into the dumpster. He was hit with a wave of embarrassment he was trying to conceal, until she added, "Besides, yours is one of the few opinions of me I care about."
That she would ever question his opinion of her was laughable. He cared for her a great deal, and he had never tried to keep that secret, especially as of late. With a faint smile, he leaned in and whispered, "I think very highly of you."
The tenderness and the sincerity were not lost on her. "Yeah, well..." She gave a casual grin, but still matched his steady gaze. "The feeling's mutual."
She sounded more serious than she perhaps intended, and it gave Connor a glimmer of hope. He knew what he wanted with Andy now. It was more obvious than ever how they were toeing the line between a platonic connection and something deeper. Laying it all bare and pursuing that was so close now, he could almost reach it. Every part of him was saying, "This is my chance."
The biggest obstacle currently, however, was the dumpster, and why he was standing in it. He lifted his hands, pulling a large object up from underneath recent trash bags. "I found this," He said with his thoughts elsewhere.
"A briefcase," She stated, taking it from him and turning it over to see the intact leather handle and the sleek metal corners. Most were clean, but one in particular was stained in blood. "A murder weapon. Oh, this has to be it," She added with new excitement, stepping back to allow Connor room to emerge. His feet hit the ground as she was typing into her phone and moving toward the entrance of the alley. "I'll let Richards know we have this."
"Wait."
She stopped. He was still standing where he first was, but his attention was on the wall in front of him. "Yeah?" She asked.
He was thinking about his conversation with Natalie the previous evening. He'd come to the decision that he would wait to tell Andy how he felt - he'd wait for the president to decide Jericho's fate, wait to know more about who he was, wait until he was living on his own. These weren't necessarily bad things, but all of it meant nothing if Andy wasn't also ready, and receptive to the idea that an android and a human could be together. She deserved that time to contemplate and understand things as much as he did.
It wasn't the most ideal of times to have this conversation, and it was certainly not the best of places, but nothing about this was conventional anyway. That was life, he was quickly learning. Shifting his focus onto the woman several feet from him, he told her, "I need to clarify what I meant."
The weight of his words, and his stare, struck Andy. She was suddenly twenty-one again, facing the last man to stand before her and say something similar. "I think I got it," She assured him, hoping it would be enough.
It wasn't. He gathered himself for a second, and started moving closer. "I care about you, Andy. I have feelings for you, and I want to have a relationship - more than this."
Andy was being split in two. On one side, his words were warm and pleasant, and they excited her; On the other, she was trying to preserve something good, and safe, and free of burden. "Connor-"
He interrupted her, knowing full well what the tense expression on her face was leading to. "I've already considered the main concerns you might have, and we can find solutions for all of them. I have no problems with the differences between us. They're all challenges I would like to overcome, with you."
Connor stopped before he got carried away discussing all of it. The logistics were meant to come later, after she'd already opened her mind to the idea in the first place. The point of all this was simply to tell her his intentions. "I'm going to ask you out, Andy. Not today, but soon," He declared. Head tilting downward to meet her at eye level again, he offered a tiny, hopeful smile, "If you say no, I won't ask again. Just... please take the time to consider it until then. Give me a real shot."
They were staring at each other, Connor having put it all out there for her, and Andy trying to figure out how to respond. How could she, after that? He didn't even expect an answer right away, but a confession like that required it.
Her ringing phone made her jump, and she couldn't decide if she was thankful or agitated over the interruption. "Yeah?" She asked Richards.
"Hank's going to get Malcolm Otto," He informed her, the sounds of the office almost drowning him out in the background.
Right. Malcolm Otto. Tommy. Sharon. That was why they were there. She looked to Connor with a different kind of urgency, saying, "We need to get to the precinct."
As easily as they'd shifted into the emotional conversation, they'd returned to the mindsets of detectives. The vulnerability was gone as they rushed back to her bike on the street outside the restaurant.
Hank met Malcolm Otto once, several years ago. At the time, the attorney was just starting his career at the Johnson Law Firm. He'd made such a little impression that Hank couldn't remember the meeting. Fowler had come to him before he left the precinct, and reminded him of the encounter.
He'd also been warned that Malcolm Otto rose through the ranks and became quite a celebrity lawyer in Michigan. He worked with prolific clients, often in cases involving narcotics and assault - the usual troubles that followed athletes and actors. Hank knew what this meant, and so when he walked into the now Johnson and Otto Law Firm, he was preparing himself to meet with an asshole.
The receptionist at the desk directed him to a large office on the east wing of the building, and he walked in to find a room wall to wall in bookshelves and paintings. A tall, slender man stood behind a glass desk, organizing folders inside an open briefcase. He looked identical to the photo on his file, with a full head of salt and pepper hair.
"Malcolm Otto?" Hank asked. The man looked up, and Hank flashed his badge. "I'm Lieutenant Hank Anderson."
Malcolm recognized the detective. His hands fell to his side and he shifted to face him. "I know who you are, Lieutenant. You ran the Red Ice Task Force once upon a time," He spoke arrogantly, with an undertone of mockery. "What can I do for you?"
"You can come with me down to the precinct to have a little talk," Hank replied casually.
The attorney smiled and gave a light huff. He returned to his work on the desk, shutting the lid of his briefcase. "Unless you're arresting one of my clients, or you're arresting me, I have more important things to do than chit-chat with the DPD," He dismissed as he wrapped his hands around the briefcase. "Now if you'll excuse me, I have an appointment in River Rouge."
He didn't wait for a response. He stepped around the desk and headed for the doorway, but Hank slid into view and blocked his path. He was very pleased to shut down Malcolm's escape, stating, "It's a little more than a chat, Mister Otto."
Andy took the long way around to get to the precinct in case she was being watched, but she still managed to get there before Hank. Richards was waiting for them when they arrived, and quickly led them into the lab. Connor carried the potential murder weapon with him, and he placed it on the table inside the room.
Richards moved around the table, slipping on gloves before he handled the briefcase. "Where did you find this?"
"Bottom of a dumpster behind Farah's," Andy shrugged.
Richards snorted. He'd finished his initial scanning for fingerprints, and began to work at collecting a blood sample. "We can test this for Tommy's blood, but it's gonna take some time," He said.
"Not if I do it."
The detectives in the room looked to Connor, who stood there waiting for permission. He had the capability to run the tests they needed, and he could do it almost instantly - it was why CyberLife made him, after all. He was also not an official member of the police department, and Richards believed he was already pushing it by allowing this much involvement.
Sensing his conflict, Andy piped up, "We need this."
That was true, too. With a reluctant sigh, Richards crossed the room to a computer terminal. "I'll give you access to the database," He conceded.
Connor jumped into action. He neared the briefcase and wet his finger before running it along one of the streaks of red. He pressed the tip of his finger against his tongue and read the data that came in from the sample. Matching it to information within the police database was a secondary but simple task for someone like him.
Finally, he nodded and confirmed, "This is Tommy's blood."
Andy couldn't resist a tiny, subtle fist pump, but a knock at the door cut the celebration short. Hank stepped into the room, glancing between each of them. "You better have something, because this guy's a dick," He griped, focusing on Andy. Noticing the briefcase on the table, he pointed and added, "Is that it?"
"It's the murder weapon," Connor answered.
Andy waved a hand over it, telling Richards, "Put everything in a box and bring it to interrogation." She then turned and approached Hank. "I have an idea," She said.
He shrugged his arms, staring at her with little patience. "A good one, I hope?"
Malcolm Otto sat in one of the DPD's interrogation rooms. He was extraordinarily still, leaning back in his chair with his eyes glued to the table. He was not nervous or frustrated - despite the tense silence, he held himself with smug levels of nonchalance. In the room on the other side of the glass stood Richards and Connor.
When Hank entered the interrogation room, Malcolm lifted his chin. "Lieutenant," He greeted before spotting Andy file in after the man. "And Detective Hope. I was wondering when this meeting would happen. I've heard so much about you."
She held an evidence box against her hip as she stared down at him. "Funny, I've never heard a thing about you."
He gave a small shrug, refuting, "Not so funny. Nick referred to me on more private matters, much as Jason is now."
"Well we're not here to talk about Nick, or Jason," She told him with the shake of her head.
"So I've heard." He watched her bend down to place the box on the floor beside the table. As she and Hank sat across from him, he straightened his suit jacket and asked, "Well then? What is this about?"
"Tommy Wallis," Andy replied.
"The intern."
Hank crossed his arms over his chest, asking, "That's what you call him?"
"I'm sure you want me to call him a runner or some other incriminating title, but the truth is, he was doing menial work. Not that that matters to the DPD-" Malcolm pointed a finger at Andy, and with a condescending smile, he said, "Or to you, Detective Hope. I'm sure everyone's a big bad super villain in your story."
She was not so easily fazed, he would discover. Flashing a smirk, she leaned forward and pressed her elbows against the table surface. "If the shoe fits," She remarked.
Hank interjected before it turned into an unnecessary argument. "We know you had Tommy break into the safe at Sharon's old office and bring you money and red ice."
Malcolm looked away from Andy, his composure never breaking. "And do you have any proof of this claim?"
Shrugging, Andy leaned back in her chair and asked, "A confession is pretty good proof, don't you think?" Seeing his prolonged stare, she elaborated, "Tommy told us you hired him."
"He told you this?" He asked with raised brows. She hummed an affirmative response, but he chuckled and declared, "You're lying."
At this, she reached for the box on the floor and retrieved a folder. Dropping it onto the table in front of him, she opened to pages detailing Tommy's phone records. "So why did you call him last night? Because according to Tommy, you called to ask him why he hadn't met up with you yet," She explained, pointing to Malcolm's number at the end of the list. "He was just trying to sell off the ice, but I guess you didn't trust him, because then you met him at the motel and you tried to kill him." With a mocking smile, she jeered, "Guess you should have waited around to make sure he was dead."
He looked nothing but entertained as he sat through her story. Afterward, he rested his hands in his lap and began, "Nick Weaver told Jason about this stash, and once his own funds were depleted, he thought he could use it to cover my fees. Tommy's been working with me for a few days now helping me gather information on Sharon, and on you, Detective Hope, so I asked him to collect the money. We were supposed to meet that night, but he never showed up. That's why I called him, but I never saw him." He was firm in that statement, and he looked to Hank now, continuing, "If he was alive, he'd tell you so himself, so I'm guessing Tommy Wallis is dead and you're trying to pin this on me."
The explanation wasn't entirely clean - he was admitting to taking dirty money - but the detectives suspected that was intentional. He would give them a little, and in doing so, he'd seem honest. What he didn't realize was just how prepared they were for this interrogation. Hank and Andy shared a glance before she went back to the evidence box. When she straightened in her chair, she hoisted a bloody briefcase over the edge and dropped it in the middle of the table.
Neither of them had to say a word. Malcolm didn't budge, but he stared at the briefcase for several, blank seconds.
Finally he shifted back to them, and smiled. "Let's make a deal."
Richards and Andy watched from the bullpen as Hank escorted Malcolm out of interrogation in handcuffs and led him to a jail cell. Even when being arrested, he kept his chin up and his back straight, and tried to appear as though he had the upper hand.
In a way, he did - the DA was willing to work with him for a more lenient sentence. There were mixed feelings about that among the detectives. Hank hated most deals the district attorney's office made, and Richards was on the fence, but as long as a case was solved, Andy was happy.
Richards huffed, muttering under his breath as Malcolm left their sight, "Amazing how fast loyalty disappears."
"Attorney-client privilege only goes so far," Andy commented. She was carrying the evidence box to her desk as she asked, "So what's next with Sharon?"
Shrugging, Richards explained, "We'll get the money out of Malcolm's office. I think we mark it, track it, and hand it off. See where she goes from here." He wanted to play the long game, but it made sense. That strategy had worked so far for SID.
She started to reply when her phone rang and cut her off. Natalie's name appeared on the screen, so she held it up, telling him, "I got to take this." He nodded and waved before walking away. Squeezing the phone between her shoulder and ear, she sat down and started to sort the contents of the box in front of her. "Hey."
"I'm sorry, am I speaking with my daughter, Andrea, right now, or with a drug dealer I don't know?" Natalie quipped into the phone.
Pursing her lips, Andy asked, "You get that out of your system?"
There was a hum from her mother. "Am I going to be able to see you for dinner tonight?"
"You will. I'll have to come back in a few hours, but I'm pretty much done for right now," Andy answered, flipping open the folder she'd earlier shown to Malcolm. There were pages full of call history, text messages, and location data tracking where Tommy had been over the past week.
"Good. I'll start heating up leftovers. Will anyone be joining us tonight?"
Hank had emerged from the cells and returned to his desk to collect his jacket. They nodded to one another in a wordless goodbye, and he headed for the exit. Connor stood in the doorway of the lobby, waiting for him, when his eyes met Andy's.
It was a simple exchange, but she still felt an immense and immediate pressure to do something - to talk to him, give him an answer, or to turn away. It was an unfounded pressure; she knew Connor would wait. Unlike her, he knew how to be patient when it mattered, but she felt it all the same.
"Andrea?"
Hank slapped a hand against Connor's shoulder and the two walked out of the department. There was a twinge in the pit of Andy's stomach, like she'd missed her chance to do something. She shook her head, clearing her thoughts and returning to the papers on her desk. "No, it's just us."
"Okay, then. Oh, pick up some bread on your way home, too, okay?"
Something else caught her eye this time. It was a number in Tommy's call history. She recognized it because she'd seen it just that day on her own phone. "Uh, yeah, I'll get it. I have to make a stop anyway, so give me another half hour, okay?" She asked, quickly standing from the desk.
Natalie sounded doubtful, but she gave her daughter little trouble in response. "All right. I'll see you soon."
Because Malcolm was only just arrested, the Johnson and Otto Law Firm wasn't yet locked down by police. They would come within the next hour, taping off Malcolm's office from the public and searching the room for evidence. In the meantime, the firm was closed with only vital staff remaining inside to finish their work days. The receptionist had gone as far as turning off the lights to the lobby before she left.
The darkness was perfect cover for a red-haired figure to enter the building. She strode past the front desk and along the east wing, her flats quiet against the tile floors. She sneaked into Malcolm's office, leaving off the lights and guiding the door closed behind her. With full privacy, she crossed the room to a short bookshelf situated behind the desk. Sliding the books on the top shelf out of the way revealed an old-school safe in the wall, fitted with a dial combination door.
She placed her fingers around the dial and began to turn it when the lights in the room flipped on.
Andy stood by the doors, but she was not there to present herself as Victoria Palmer. She was Detective Hope, with her firearm raised and aimed at Sharon's back. "Turn around. Slowly," She ordered.
There was no reaction right away, but the woman turned on her heels, inch by inch until she was facing Andy. She was trembling. She had dried streaks of tears along her cheeks, and she held a phone in the palm of her hand.
This wasn't Sharon.
The phone was turned on, and in the middle of a call. The number was the same one Andy recognized in her burner phone and in Tommy's call history. Lowering her gun in surprise, she took a cautious step forward and grabbed the phone.
"Hello?"
"Detective Hope." The name left Sharon's mouth as though she was tasting the word. "I like it. It's got a nice ring to it. Better than Victoria Palmer, anyway."
Andy had already surmised her cover was blown, but to hear it from Sharon herself was chilling. They'd worked together for a year and after all that time, this was their first official meeting. "What was all this?"
Sharon talked to her just the same as she always had, nonchalant and almost playful. "Oh, I never lied to you, Detective. I really did want my money, and Tommy was a great help this week in getting that back to me."
"You already had the stash," Andy murmured. Sharon hummed an affirmative, and the detective clenched her jaw. "Then what the hell was the point of all this?"
"Malcolm Otto? Remember, the real bad guy here? He's an asshole even by lawyer standards," Sharon scoffed. "Stupid, though. He never once considered that Tommy was loyal to me, not my brother."
She fell quiet, giving stage to the muffled sound of traffic in the background. She was driving, no doubt out of the city by now. "I told Tommy to leave town, but no, he wanted to sell at his old stomping grounds, so Malcolm found him. And he had the audacity to think he could kill one of mine and just walk away? No. I needed a little angel of retribution - you. That's you."
"You roped me in to get back at Malcolm?" Andy didn't want to believe it - Sharon had risked her freedom to toy with the DPD, to toy with Andy, and get Malcolm out of the picture - but Andy also knew she should have expected nothing less. Sharon was smart, but she was unpredictable. She was vindictive.
Sharon spoke like it was obvious. "You're a cop, aren't you? Don't you want to catch murderers? No hard feelings about that, by the way. You were a good employee while it lasted, and you even killed Nick. Honestly, you betraying my trust was the best outcome all around." With a small gasp, she added, "Oh, but I do still have a reward for your help today. My friend there has it for you."
A reward could have meant anything, and after the week Andy had, a part of her half expected to find an explosive. She looked to the stranger in front of her, which was the woman's cue to reach into her pocket. Rather than a weapon, she retrieved a memory card.
Andy stared at it. "What is this?"
Sharon mused in response, "Consider it an olive branch from an old friend. And Detective?" There was a pause, and the tone of the call shifted. It was cold, now, and Andy almost thought she heard concern on the other end of the line as Sharon said, "Good luck."
The dial tone was harsh in contrast.
Andy waited for police to arrive at the law offices. The woman Sharon pulled into this seemed to be an innocent bystander, but the DPD would detain and question her to be safe. That work would be left to SID, though, so Andy headed home.
Natalie had leftovers from Thanksgiving already prepared on the table by the time she walked in the door. Minutes later, they were sitting down and starting to eat. Natalie talked lightly about her day; she went to the restaurant her old friend used to run, and she walked around window-shopping. She mentioned getting gifts for Christmas, and how expensive the plazas in Detroit were. Andy had little to offer to the conversation when her mind was stuck on Sharon.
"So..." Natalie pursed her lips, trying to assess her daughter's mood. "How was work?"
Andy was resting her cheek on her palm as she dug her fork into a pile of mashed potatoes. "It was fine."
"Oh, good, I was worried you ditched me to go have a great day," Natalie retorted, reaching for her wine glass. "I'm glad it was just fine."
Resisting a sigh, Andy looked to her mother and asked, "Can we just... let today go? Like all of it? Please?"
Natalie's brow quirked as she seemed to consider it. With a tiny shrug, she said, "Let me buy tickets to the Nutcracker."
The demand was abrupt, and Andy reeled. Closing her eyes and shaking her head, she stuttered, "The- Pardon?"
Natalie nodded. "You told me we couldn't see a show when I visit for Christmas. I want to see one," She stated, gesturing to herself with her free hand.
Andy could picture her mother, spending the day thinking up the perfect consolation for Andy cancelling their plans. She was probably so proud of herself for this one. Pouting, Andy grumbled, "I really hate it when you have leverage."
"Well?"
"Fine," She caved before shooting her mother an accusatory glance. "Shall we invite Hank, too, let you have your second date?"
Natalie pointed at her with a fork. "For that, I just might," She threatened with a small chuckle.
They settled into a silence, though it didn't last long. "You did miss the point, by the way," Natalie said. Andy's brows furrowed in confusion, and Natalie described, "The big point I was trying to make this morning?"
Ah, that. 'It's always important,' Natalie had said in the middle of their argument. Andy had agreed. She thought her mother was understanding her point.
That was obviously not the case. Andy's lips pulled into a wry grin, and she said, "I'm sure you're about to enlighten me."
Natalie ignored the snark, telling her, "Work isn't your life. It matters, and I am so proud of you for it, but it isn't your life." She smiled and placed a hand on her chest, joking, "I am." She quickly sat back and waved her hands around herself, adding, "This- The little moments that all add up. What you're doing between all the big stuff."
Her tone softened, her eyes wistful as she said, "Sometimes, the importance of what we do is irrelevant, and I don't want you to miss that."
She wasn't wrong, but Andy had a long, confusing day, and she didn't want to think anymore. She was staring with raised brows and a faint pout when she stated, "You sound like a Christmas movie."
Natalie pursed her lips but leaned forward and retorted, "Ho ho ho."
"We need to talk."
It was shortly after midnight when Connor received a text from Andy. Hank had already gone to bed, as had most of the neighborhood, and he was sitting with Sumo when the message arrived.
He assumed it to be about his confession earlier, and he was immediately anxious. When he said he was giving her time to think, he was hoping it would be more than half a day. If she already had her answer, he suspected that didn't look good for him.
Then he arrived at the apartments, and saw her sitting on the steps outside the complex with a tablet in her hands. She stood as he approached, and he could see a look of fear on her face. Whatever she had to say was not about them, but something much more concerning.
He sped up his strides to meet her. "What's wrong?"
She tried to answer him, but her mind was still spinning. She stumbled over her words before managing a shaky start, "Sharon gave me an SD card tonight."
His mind went to what could possibly have been on it - blackmail, a virus, a threat? He couldn't imagine what would disturb her like this, but more importantly, why hadn't she submitted it into evidence?
She looked down at the screen a moment before holding the electronic out to him. He took it quickly, and found a mountain of data, more than Connor could read in a second's glance.
It was clear enough to know what he was looking at, however, and it shocked him.
