CHAPTER TWO
Who was she hiding from...? And what does this program have to do with anything...?
Those two questions have been thrashing around Bobby's imagination for most of the last ten days. Most, because the second question didn't emerge until an hour ago, after the techs finished their scavenging run on Penny's laptop. She wrote it, that much was clear. So, both have asked repeatedly, why did she make it, and what made her hide?
Across from him, Alex sinks back into her chair, exhaling loudly. Ten days of searching, she grouses silently, and all we've got is a mystery homemade program... Oh, she remembers, the super saw someone – a young black man who couldn't hold still – outside Penny's apartment building for hours one night. There's got to be a connection between them, but what is it...?
Penny's apartment was emptied days after her murder. CSU found nothing to point them to the killer or killers, so her family got to clear out the majority of her possessions. The NYPD kept her financial information, Hudson records, all papers related to her grant work, and her computer equipment.
Alex and Bobby have been going over are Penny's papers, school schedule, and grades. So far, nothing has been out of the ordinary for a grad student.
Which has meant ten days of standing over each other's shoulders, scanning for any inconsistencies or alarm bells. Ten days of weary – and largely unproductive – questioning of Penny's friends, teachers, advisers, and former dorm mates.
And ten days of noticing they're unconsciously inching closer into each other's personal space... in public. Ten days of eying their own behavior for any hints of change.
Sighing, Alex pushes herself up. My legs need a stretch, she feels, after hours of hunting through the last bundle of papers... And my eyes... "I'm getting some Advil, or whatever is handy," she murmurs, her frustration rolling off her tongue. She lifts her gaze, focusing on catching his. How engrossed are you this time, Bobby...?
It takes Bobby several seconds to register her words. When they sink in, he glances up, noticing the offer to get him something from the break room. I'm okay, he nods silently.
Returning the nod absently, Alex closes the door behind her. People leave him alone to do his job when there's a visible barrier, she's discovered. Oh, Cap's out making his rounds. I'll bring him in for an update after I take care of this headache...
Bobby spends the next few minutes taking random notes, searching for whatever they're not seeing. Come on, his mind grumbles as his hands move to a pile of mail, think... There has to be a clue to her actions, and to the motive for the murder...
Bobby's so focused on his reading, he nearly misses seeing Alex approach the door again, with Deakins following. Tightening on his pen, he considers what he can report on. Which, his mind grumbles, isn't much...
"Our computer nerds," Alex says to their boss as she opens the door, "recovered the last file deleted before the erase program was activated." She stops next to her chair, tapping briefly – while Deakins closes the door behind him – on the table, adding, "It looks like software to generate random numbers. Her professor," she finishes, gesturing to the papers, "said it wasn't part of her defense work."
Working on unpredictability when you make your living off predictability...? Deakins' hands slide to his pockets as he considers the thought. "A random number generator," he comments, "doesn't sound like something a card counter would use."
In mid-search through the mail, Bobby lifts his head to acknowledge Deakins' presence. "She wouldn't," he shrugs. "It's a predictive system. It's her specialty. It's the kind of software she'd write for someone else. Like maybe the same person she was hiding from." I hedge only because we haven't found anything to prove it... "She moved out of her dorm into a sublet. She's been living out of her suitcases."
Alex fishes through the pictures they already spent a few hours looking at. "Lots of photos of her family in Raleigh. Of her at her prom, with her Koren-American boyfriend." She hands them to Deakins.
"So this nice hometown girl was being stalked," Deakins states, keeping his voice level even as he feels a tightening in his chest; his mind is seeing his eldest in this girl. Don't go there, he quickly chides himself. "And none of her friends knew?" Movement from Bobby draws his eyes to him.
Wait a minute, Bobby's mind breathes. His eyes fix on one part of the most recent transcript. "Maybe she wasn't talking the talk, but she was walking the walk." He scans the page again, making sure he saw it correctly. I did, he sighs. "She dropped three classes the week before she moved. One of them, Multi-variable Calculus, was a requirement of her major."
A major that close to graduating wouldn't do that, Alex's mind starts. Her eyes fix on Bobby's as she remarks, "If she drops it, she doesn't graduate." Sounds like our clue...
"Yeah, but..." Bobby hedges, handing the transcript to Alex, "she did drop it." Time to call the registration desk at Hudson, he says with his eyes.
Alex nods, a tiny grin appearing. The person she was hiding from, she says silently, is in all three of those classes, I'll bet... She stands, breezing by their boss as she takes the transcript to her phone.
Finally, Bobby's mind cheers as he gathers the papers about the program, progress. Oh, better bring the description of that young man...
Guessing that his detectives are in their own world already, Deakins starts walking back to his office. "Give me a status when you get back," he orders, not entirely sure that the big man is listening. The problems of having a detective who thinks so much, his mind groans.
Several steps out, he glances back when he hears Bobby walking out to see how Alex's call is going. Deakins sees Bobby stop next to Alex's chair, leaning against her desk with his hands. Alex is taking notes, a growing smirk on her face. Looks, Deakins guesses from his experiences as a detective, like a three-alarm lead. He sees Bobby smoothly straighten and start walking back to his own desk as Alex hangs up.
Back in his office a few seconds later, something about what he just saw nags him. Why should anything about them cause that reaction? They're an unusual team. One some have nicknamed "The Odd Couple."
They're talking a lot more often without speaking... He remembers that it started when they got the Chai case. Oh, they've got a second case going, Deakins notes, but it's a robbery straight out of a criminal psychology textbook. The perps have been in custody for six days. Paperwork is all that's missing, but they need a few answers that they won't get until forensics finishes their tests.
But what happened to cause this...? Not that I'm complaining, he amends, since they seem to be more efficient. However... they're also standing slightly more in each other's personal space than before... and they've come in together every day since last week... It's like they're doing more together than they were...
Oh, no... He removes his glasses and presses his fingers on either side of the bridge of his nose. They're not... His hand drops as he notices them walking out to check their lead, walking maybe a bit closer than he feels is professional. They could be, he reluctantly admits. They very well could be...
--
"Penny Chai?" The tone is fairly even, but neither detective missed how Greg Monroe nearly jumped when they came up to the library table he's using. His hand, holding a copy of the photo taken for Penny's student ID card, trembles slightly, belying his casual answer. "I don't know," he shrugs, putting the photo down near his active laptop, "I might have been in some of her classes. So what?" The young black man's eyes – darting between the detectives – make his words more unconvincing.
"No," Alex contends, smirking faintly at Monroe's inability to tell a lie, "see, Greg, you were the only guy in all three classes. The three classes she dropped."
Monroe frowns, turning his face away from Alex to stare at the wall in front of him. Yes, Bobby's mind comments as he watches the suspect, no one ever told you that you're a bad liar, did they? Watching Alex make suspects cringe under her smirk is deeply satisfying to watch.
While Bobby looks down to his binder to sift through papers, Alex continues, voice low with knowledge, "Her super at the sublet recognized you from a photo. She saw you in front of the building."
Monroe fidgets like he barely has enough self-restraint to keep his anxiety from showing anywhere other than his face. Let's see if it extends further, Alex decides, leaning forward to get in his space. "What," she whispers, voice carrying a mild threat, "were you doing outside her building?"
"I was-" Yep, Bobby nods to himself as Monroe digs himself deeper into a hole. Bobby can tell without looking up that Monroe's face is getting more and more out of control, and that taking a breath doesn't help. "I was doing a project with her," Monroe insists, tone hinting at massive desperation for them to believe him. "I was waiting for her to get home."
Alex stares the man down, pushing his eyes to look anywhere except her. Yeah, right... I bet you were the one she was hiding from...
Someone that panicky isn't likely to kill the way that Penny was killed, Bobby reflects, but let's see how he reacts to this... He pulls out the printout from the recovered files, the one showing the program. "A random number generator," he comments. Plunking it in front of Monroe, he adds, finally looking up, "We found it on her computer."
Eyes fixed on the paper from the instant it appears, Monroe swallows. Someone, Alex suspects, has tried teaching him to control some of his reactions... but the lessons didn't take. "Yeah," he nearly chokes. "Right," he insists with a tiny nod.
Bobby remains silent. You won't like the quiet, he thinks at Monroe, and you'll have to explain the paper.
When he finally looks up and sees two expantant stares, Monroe's trembling increases slightly, his lips making weird waves. "Uh-" The word comes out sounding more like clearing a throat. He visibly swallows, and tries again. "It generates lottery numbers." He looks up, trying to make them believe him. "It's legal," he insists. "It just... it just increases the odds of winning."
Alex raises an eyebrow. I worked on busting gambling operations too often to buy that one. Those programs look very different.
"Well, we-we like that." Bobby adds a smile to his words, making it extend to his eyes as though intrigued. "So, this variable here, what's X mean?"
Monroe manages a shrug. "It's anything you want. It's a variable." His voice holds its cool for once.
Well, Alex marvels, he actually sounds honest there... But there's a big secret behind this program...
"Okay..." Bobby regroups his thoughts, looking at another copy of the program to remind him of his next question. "'X times 4 over 12.' What's four?"
"A constant," Monroe replies, apparently without thinking. "It's just a unit of measurement." As soon as the words leave his mouth, he seems to realize he said more than he ought to have.
Ah... Alex forces her smirk down to a dull roar. Now we're getting somewhere...
"Four of something is a unit?" Bobby uses his eyes to keep Monroe's in place, his voice conveying curiosity.
"Yes." The word comes out with a tremble.
He's about to break, Bobby thinks, hit his limit... Keeping his tone non-threatening, he asks, "What does it measure?"
"Nothing." Now Monroe's lost any semblance of calm, nearing a panic. "It doesn't measure anything. Look," he pleads, closing his laptop, "it's not even finished, okay? It's not even going to be finished. So, just..." He gathers his things, leaving the paper copy of the program on the table. "Just leave me alone." He speed walks out of the library.
Both watch him leave, silently. Alex breaks the silence after several seconds. "Another minute or two, and he would've cracked," she grumbles as they stand up.
Recovering the copy for his binder, Bobby considers what he saw. "Monroe's definitely not the leader of this operation," he quietly declares, closing his binder. As they move for the exit, he observes, "He seemed genuinely shaken by Penny's death. He cared about her."
"Yeah, so much that she was trying to make sure he couldn't find her." Alex snorts, quietly in deference to the library. "He might not have thought so, but he was stalking her. But," she adds, "I agree that he lacks several things needed for the murder."
As they walk out, each reflects on what Monroe wanted them to believe. The program isn't for lottery numbers, and both are positive that Monroe knows they don't believe him.
Thinking about Monroe's word choice, Bobby needs to say his thoughts aloud, to get feedback. "A unit of measurement," he recites what Monroe claimed, meeting Alex's eyes. "Four of something is a unit. But for what?" He's frustrated; complex math equations have always fascinated him, and he's always been good at figuring them out. This one, however, is stumping him. "X times four divided by 12. 12... What do you think, inches?" Why else, he thinks, would the "12" be there?
Alex frowns. "A unit of measurement that's four inches long?" She racks her brain, puzzling for the answer. She shakes her head unconsciously. What could it be...?
Wait... Bobby slows his pace, her words bringing a memory of a conversation he had almost two weeks ago to mind. Four inches... If this is about racing, he realizes, then this unit makes perfect sense...
Watching his face, Alex starts frowning a little, but it fades when he stops and cracks his "Of course, why didn't I think of it before" smile. Wonder if I'm going to have something extra to tease him about... Half the time, she recalls, he says the first words that smile communicates, just to get his thoughts in order.
He finally turns the smile to her. "Of course." His free hand extends the words. He starts walking, out of habit when he has a light bulb moment.
Alex's feet refuse to work when he moves, her brow furrowing. Wait, Bobby... What-
Before she finishes the thought, Bobby stops and drops back to her – not noticing her changing frown and confused gaze – as he checks his watch. "He's usually at Mulligan's after 7," he comments absently. But I can probably convince him to arrive early, he remembers, resuming walking.
Well, Alex thinks with a frown, that explains a lot. "Somebody I know?" She lightly points at herself, hoping the gesture and words get her an answer soon.
Oops... Bobby drops back again, unconsciously reaching for her shoulder to encourage her along. "Somebody..." He trails off, chest constricting as he remembers the funeral. Focus, he reminds himself, on her presence... to keep going... His hand gently tugs her shoulder, not willing to let go. "Somebody my-my dad knew," he finishes quietly, keeping his hand on her for a few seconds longer than he used to when he wanted to physically coax her along.
Ooh... Alex nods as they walk, suppressing her questions as the weight of that admission hits her. Someone he met recently... But, she notes with a tiny smile, he seems to like this person... so I probably will, too.
While they walk to the SUV, Bobby uses his cell to call this person. A man, she guesses from Bobby's tone. Someone called "Ferdie." And, she notes, it sounds like this man is decent to Bobby. Good...
They're absolutely silent for most of the ride over. As the bar comes into sight, Alex's restraint hits its limit. I have to know... "So," she gently inquires, letting Bobby know she's simply curious, "who is this guy we're meeting?"
Chilled by a resurgence of the memories of eleven days earliar, Bobby takes a deep breath. This is Alex, he reminds himself. She's patient, and she's asked the question before. No reason, he tells himself, to not enlighten her. "Ferdie was... the executor of my dad's will. We met a few times to settle... what to do with his things."
Oh... Alex remembers a few times where Bobby absolutely refused to tell her where he was going. Must've been for those meetings. She understands the need to take care of something yourself; she's been arguing with her family over such things for over thirty years. As she pulls into an open spot, in a semi-crowded parking lot, she glances over to ask, "What are you willing to tell me about him?" I don't mind being surprised, but this man's connected to such a painful time for Bobby... I want to know so I can better gage how to act.
Bobby considers possible answers. The truth, Goren, he chides himself. The truth is where you start... He finds his voice as they step out. Bobby stammers, quietly, "He-he knew my father for the last ten years." Breathe, he thinks as he feels his body tense, breathe... She's safe, remember...?
Hmm... Alex absorbs that as they walk through the front door. The bar looks rather pleasant, and Alex can easily imagine cops enjoying it, so she feels fairly comfortable. She's not thirsty, though she'll stick to water if she needs anything; even if she weren't driving, I won't take chances now that I'm waiting to know if the implantation took... Searching out Bobby's eyes, she softly inquires, "Do you know how he knew your father...?"
Face scrunching, Bobby grimaces. Should have known, he thinks, that she'd ask... "Over the activity we're here to discuss..." His quiet voice trails off as his eyes search the bar. Spotting Ferdie within seconds, he motions for Alex to follow him.
She does, removing her outer jacket when she notices how comfortable the temperature is. Gaging his movements, Alex deduces their destination. The older man in a suit, wearing glasses, sitting alone at that table near the bar... Kindly, friendly, and intelligent... Seems like someone I would like.
Once they come close to the table, the man looks up and sees them. "Good to see you again, Bobby," he greets as they reach the table. His tone confirms everything Alex senses about him, so she feels a little more relaxed. He is a kind, knowledgeable old man whose biggest fault – so far – is apparently having been friends with Bobby's father. Not that I'll ever say anything...
Bobby discovered that being around this good man – who, for reasons he won't think about yet had called his father a friend – lifts his spirits, so his smile is genuine. "You too, Ferdie. This," he adds, turning to include Alex in the conversation, "is my partner, Detective Alex Eames."
When his eyes register her, Ferdie's gaze turns thoughtful, like he thinks he recognizes her from somewhere. But, Alex thinks, I don't remember him. Unless he went to one of the bars I've been to, but even then I don't go often...
"Pleased to meet you, Detective," Ferdie greets, briefly blinking away his thoughts and offering his hand.
Mentally shrugging, Alex extends hers, and receives a firm handshake. "Hello," she responds. It's all she can think of, given the circumstances. Besides, she silently adds, it's Bobby's show...
The unusual expression in Ferdie's eyes didn't escape Bobby, but since she doesn't react much, he sits when Ferdie motions them to. Alex sets her coat on the fourth chair, but Bobby keeps his binder in his lap. "Thank you again," he comments, "for meeting us on short notice."
Ferdie slightly waves a hand, silently saying, It's no big deal. "It sounded important. I ordered scotch. Do either of you want anything?"
Meeting Bobby's eyes briefly and seeing a negative answer, Alex shakes her head. "I think we're both good," she says.
Not offended, Ferdie nods in acceptance. "So, Bobby, why did you want to meet?"
Bobby – binder already open – pulls out the copy of the program. "This random number generator," he explains, handing it over. "We found it as part of an investigation. We're hoping you can help us figure out its details," he adds as Ferdie examines the equations.
Deciding her input isn't needed, Alex watches the interaction between the men. You'll have to explain just what brought us here, Bobby...
"Now," Bobby continues, "a guy involved in its creation told us that it's for lottery numbers, but we didn't believe him. He accidentally mentioned that this four," he points at the equation he'd pressed Monroe about, "is a unit of measurement."
Ferdie looks at the copy of the program, standing when he notices the bartender signaling him. He scans the equations as he receives his drink. When he turns, he nods at Bobby. "It could be hands," he comments as he walks back, "if this is what you think it is." He takes his seat, putting the paper on the table.
Good to know we're on the right track, Bobby thinks. "Well," he observes, acknowledging how he came to the idea in the first place, "the only unit of measurement four inches long is a hand. Hands," he adds for Alex's benefit, since she said she doesn't mind and since it helps his thought process, "are how you measure horses from hoofs to whithers."
"Oh," Alex murmurs. I didn't know that... Growing up, she was fascinated by horses. I even dreamed of living on a horse farm, riding everyday and taking care of them. Of course, her parents didn't let her ride one until she was a teenager; they didn't want to risk anything happening to their petite little girl. They underestimated her ability to overcome fear of animals much bigger than herself, an aspect of her being that helps her as a cop. Possibly, she's sometimes joked, even as Bobby's partner.
A tight smile crosses Bobby's face. Idiot, he always thinks, why didn't you see this sooner? A look that Alex – during dinner about four nights ago – commented is adorable. Why, he's not sure... "This is about horses." He points at a section on the paper they're showing Ferdie, adding, "And this measurement here -"
"Ah!" Ferdie's eyes light in recognition. He taps at where Bobby points. "Eighth of a mile. Furlongs," he identifies, looking up at them.
Sitting straighter, Alex recognizes what it means. "The length of the track," she declares. I knew that about horses. But, part of her asks, how did I not know the "hands" detail?
"Yes," Ferdie remarks, absently. "And these equations," he taps as he speaks, "here – win-loss – one for the beast, one for the jockey." When Ferdie pauses, hand in mid-air, Bobby softly drags the paper back in front of himself.
At the same moment, Ferdie's eyes brighten, like he's figured something out. He lightly points at Alex, inquiring, "Are you the girl he brought to the funeral?"
What the...?! Alex barely suppresses outward shock, keeping it to the minimum of opening her mouth to deny it and shaking her head slightly. There...
Bobby flinches, remembering the neighbor that Ferdie's mistaking Alex for. Please stop, he silently pleads, keeping his eyes resolutely on the paper. The pessimistic side of his brain shakes its own head at the rest of his mind, saying, Not likely with your luck...
Ferdie, completely unaware of the can of worms he's opening, immediately continues. "Because if I didn't say it then," he pauses there, letting out an admiring breath and smile "you are very lovely."
"I didn't bring anyone to the funeral," Bobby chokes out. Keep your fingers still on the paper, he wills himself. Memories of wanting her there, and of why Ferdie would make that mistake, drive a stake through his chest. He hopes that, despite the awkwardness and brief hesitation in his voice, the topic's closed.
Alex nearly sighs in relief at Bobby's admission, but ruthlessly crushes it. Now is not the time to even think about this. Still, she allows, there's something major to discuss later... Ferdie's comments themselves don't bother her; she's used to getting lines from guys. Even his friendship – or whatever they considered it – with Bobby's father doesn't make the line unnerving. But the thought that someone else even looked like she was with Bobby at such a raw moment in his life...
Needing to bring the conversation back in line, Bobby looks at Alex, silently asking her to follow. At least for now. He gives her a tight smile, letting out hints of frustration over – mostly, since he's not recovered from Ferdie's innocent comment – not figuring this out on his own. "This program," he comments with conviction, "is for handicapping horse races."
The only experience Alex has with the "sport of kings" are a few times when her dad answered questions about his cases, and one Vice operation where a perp was heavily into horse betting. But this seems a bit far-fetched, she thinks. She promptly asks Ferdie, "Well, does it work?"
Ferdie's face twitches slightly. "Ah, about as well as the system his father used," he comments, briefly tilting his head towards Bobby, who doesn't look up. Ferdie varies where he looks every few seconds – either at her or at Bobby, but mostly at her – as he continues, "He'd go down to check the horses in their stalls before the race, see if their ears were up or down, and bet accordingly." His hands motion to his ear at that part of his explanation, and his eyes reflect a tolerant amusement at some memory.
The response suggests to Alex that the game was one of Paul Goren's many vices. And apparently a favorite one. Aside, she grimaces, from... going around... Alex files the information away for later when she decides it won't help her thinking or mood. The priority, she reminds herself, is to figure out how this program ties in with Penelope Chai's death. I doubt this program would really work, but... The answer dawns on her. "Well, maybe that's the point of this," she comments to Bobby. "A gimmick to sell to gamblers."
Makes sense, Bobby nods silently, not looking at her yet. Instead he aims a question at Ferdie. "It has the veneer of logic, doesn't it?" The thoughtful tone includes both of them, and his eyes shift between them and the paper. "I mean, it factors in every variable."
"And does so very elegantly," Ferdie remarks, admiration for the design evident as he looks at the equations again.
It is elegant, Bobby silently admits with admiration for the process that must have gone into creating the program. How much of it, he wonders, was Penny's work? "Yeah," he speculates, "you could use this for credible justification of any long-shot bet... even suspicious ones," he adds, double-checking by looking at his acquaintance, the question in his face and his tone. "It would, right, Ferdie?"
Ferdie nods, eyebrows raised in acknowledgment. "Yes, it would," he agrees, looking back and forth between them. "It would at that." His eyes drift back to the paper, as though contemplating how it would be utilized.
Alex sighs, thinking, anyone who wants this needs counseling... Mentally pushing herself into gear, she decisively comments, "This should give us plenty to go on. Cap will be pleased."
Her words make Bobby glance at his watch. Oh, right, we should be getting back soon... "We should get back to the squad room," he sighs. I was starting to enjoy this time... As he pushes himself up, he offers his hand again. "Thank you, Ferdie."
Simply clasping his glass in his free hand, Ferdie remarks, "Think nothing of it. I'm glad for the company, Bobby." His gaze turns to Alex, and he pleasantly adds, "It was good to meet you, Detective." His eyes reflect an apology over his mistaken assumption.
Alex waves it off with a grin. "Likewise." It really is okay, she thinks at him as she shakes his hand. After all, you don't know...
"I'd like to hear the whole story someday," Ferdie comments as Alex collects her coat.
Bobby blinks. Well, he reminds himself, Ferdie is good company... "I'll let you know when I can," he shrugs. "Thanks again."
Ferdie nods at Bobby, and says, "Goodbye, Detective," to Alex.
Alex nods with a smile, and they walk off. Her questions start clamoring for answers. I'll wait, she tells them, until after we're in the SUV to ask. Maybe even until tonight. He deserves privacy for this delicate subject.
Bobby senses that Alex is going to ask him more about Ferdie. Specifically, he suspects, how the hell could he have been friends with my dad... He knows from experience that she won't ask until no one else can hear, which means the front passenger seat will become the hot seat shortly.
As they buckle in, Alex decides to wait a bit longer. I need to think about my word choice here, she feels. "He's a nice man," she comments, sensing that Bobby needs to hear her voice. "We should meet him again sometime."
Whoa... He considers that while she starts the car. He tells her something that had to upset her until I corrected him, Bobby's mind ponders, and she still liked the man...? Well, she is... with me... I guess I shouldn't be too surprised. "I guess," he finally says, softly, "I will call him after we solve the case."
Alex nods, pleased with the decision. They drive in silence for severals minutes as Alex negotiates the side streets to the main path to One Police Plaza. When they're a few minutes away, Alex's curiosity won't be held back. As good a time as any, she decides. Keeping her tone neutral, non-threatening, she asks, "How did you meet Ferdie?"
Remember, he tells himself, it's a reasonable question... Taking a deep breath, Bobby sighs, "He was the executor of the will," he explains, his hands shifting on his binder. "We met to sort out some details." His voice is a bit tighter than he'd like, but not as much as he was expecting. I was uncomfortable going to meet him, he remembers. Thank God he was easy to deal with...
Hmm... At least your father had one decent friend... "So," Alex begins the other topic opened by the past half-hour, "why did he think you brought a girl to the funeral?"
Bobby flinches. Knew this was coming... Thank you for at least holding back your judgment... "Some of Dad's neighbors attended. One of them was a woman... who looked like you... from a distance." Up close, he vaguely recalls, it wasn't as uncanny. Swallowing, he has to force his voice to be louder than a whisper; his throat wants to remain closed. "She chose a seat near me during the services, and offered condolences after... the casket was in the ground." His body shivers, shaking the memory away... for now. "Ferdie talked with me right after."
Alex absorbs the information. Well... there's gotta be more than that to it... "He thought," she asks, sounding between a statement and a question, "I was there because that woman talked with you?"
"Basically." How much are you gonna make me talk about...? Ten days of being together hasn't given Bobby much practice with telling more about his life. Alex hasn't pressed – or even asked – for more knowledge since that fateful night. Which has lessened the tightness in his shoulders.
Pursing her lips, Alex considers her options. He's not comfortable with the memory, she notices. Does he not want me to feel jealous, or is he trying to forget something...? But, she thinks, I want to know what happened... "Did he overhear what you talked about?" Her tone remains neutral, her volume gentle.
"Doubt it," Bobby immediately responds, confident in that. I know he was too far away, and our voices were fairly quiet.
Oh...? She glances over, wanting to see his reaction. "But," she speculates, "he did watch."
You didn't expect her to drop the subject, did you...? Well, he thinks, I didn't do anything, did I...? "She... was showing... interest," he reluctantly admits. "As much as is appropriate at a funeral." I don't want to think about it, Alex, he wills silently. Hoping to close the subject, he adds, "She took about a minute to get the hint that I wasn't going to reciprocate."
Fingers tapping the steering wheel, Alex eyes the road as the words flit through her mind. Why am I not surprised...? The unknown son, handling his father's services... I wonder how many of the waitresses who've served you, Bobby, were interested... At that point, Alex pulls up to the parking lot, brining her focus on getting the parking pass meter to register her permit. Once it does and the gate lets her pass, she remarks, teasing, "Guess you didn't realize you're a magnet for petite blonds."
Bobby turns his head to face her, eyebrows up. Are you... kidding me? "Uh, Alex, I... I'm no magnet."
Alex laughs. Typical Bobby... "I can think of a few that you wouldn't have ever noticed; your attention was elsewhere each time." She pulls into their regular spot, shutting off the SUV. Unbuckling, she adds with a big smirk, "As for the magnet bit, I can think of a few women in this building who consider your presence magnetic." I can joke, she thinks, because I know you only want me.
What... You have to be kidding, Alex... Yet Bobby's never known Alex to exaggerate. Still, he thinks as he clears his throat, I care about her opinion only. The line brings up another line of thought. "Well," he murmurs, "what about you..?"
Hello, chance to render Bobby Goren speechless... She grins cheekily, looking him over from head to toe. "Sometimes," she says casually, "I have to admonish myself to keep my hands off you."
His eyes resemble a frog's in half a second, his jaw dropping to his chest. What...?!
Score one for me today, Alex thinks as she suppresses laughter. Instead, she gets out, knowing he'll follow sooner or later.
Instinct kicks in, drawing him mechanically after her. Was... was, his mind stammers, she teasing...? He remains feeling dazed in body and mind until the elevator reaches their floor, not noticing the stares or smirks several aim his way.
Those looks don't worry Alex. I've made him floored before. They'll just assume I managed to shock him with knowledge. Nothing to think twice about...
As they step off, Bobby recovers himself, shaking his head mostly clear. "Okay," he begins, bringing them back to work mode, "so, we're looking for people using this to justify long-shot bets. We might have to check every racing area."
Alex nods, thinking about their options as they reach the squadron proper. "In Vice, I noticed a lot of perps going to Bel Mont, places like that. Why not start there?"
He nods. "They run a full schedule at Bel Mont. We can run the program against the winners and losers," he adds as she hangs her coat on the rack.
No words are necessary, not even a nod. I'll check to see how many places we might need to look into, Alex decides as she sits. Sighing to direct her mind fully on the job, she opens her laptop to start their search.
Bobby pulls out his chair and starts sitting. It should have been like any other moment on a case. Except his eyes take in his desk as he sits, and he starts feeling a knot in his stomach. Something is wrong, he senses, something isn't right here... He scans for another instant, confirming his instincts. He tilts his chin, checking with Alex. "Anything missing from your desk?"
What...? Startled, Alex pulls down the screen, scanning her desk. Everything looks fine, she thinks as her tongue clicks. Then her eyes drift to near her right hand, and her breath hitches silently. "No," she hedges, feeling a growing sense of disquiet, "but I don't remember leaving these files like this." She taps the folders as she speaks. I don't leave files that organized, she knows. How can they be like this, she asks herself as Bobby stands again.
Bobby takes a measured breath. I'm definitely not seeing things... "Well," he remarks, tone carefully controlled, "my notepad is missing the top sheet." He touches it to draw her attention to it.
How can you tell? Alex frowns, trying to see a difference in the sever pattern. Well, she reminds herself, this is Bobby. After all, I failed to notice that a girl looked like she was applying lipstick to her eyeball until he pointed it out.
The next clue he holds up for her inspection. "This Post-It note was on my phone," Bobby comments, putting it back where it was, "not on my blotter." He taps the blotter as he speaks, frowning in concentration.
Holding some of her misplaced files, Alex's eyes widen. Wait, that was on his phone... No one goes near our desks... not without permission...
Bobby shuffles his weight between his feet without moving, waving a hand to catch the attention of Detective Michaels, who happens to walk nearby. "See anyone at my desk," Bobby asks, motioning to his space.
"Yeah," Michaels answers immediately, casually, "a plainclothes from the 5-8."
Alex freezes. We haven't dealt with them in months, her mind breathes.
Bobby stares in disbelief at the shorter detective. What the hell...?
Michaels adds, tone matter-of-fact, "He had a visitor's clip. He was here when I came on shift an hour ago. He said you told him to wait for you," he tells Bobby.
Bobby frowns, folds his arms to help himself think. I know no one was supposed to come here... That guy was our perp... "Well, what did this guy look like?"
"Caucasian," Michaels shrugs, "average height, hat, puffy coat, tinted glasses, and a scarf." His posture and tone tells both of them that he didn't get a good look, although he appears apologetic as he walks away to handle whatever papers he was carrying.
That's not usually, Alex thinks as her eyes drift up from checking some of her other belongings, how things work... That guy couldn't have been a plainclothes...
Bobby turns his attention to the files on his desk, the third thing that's askew. "Well, he skimmed these files," he informs Alex, glancing up briefly every few seconds "but he read the one on Penny Chai." He pulls it out, checking the position of the papers and that they're all there. All accounted for, he notes in slight relief. At least we have that... "I clipped my notes on Tomas Ramone to the autopsy report. He moved them."
"He wanted to know what we have," Alex breathes in shock. And he wanted us to know that he looked...
Sighing, Bobby grimaces. This guy... The balls this took... The arrogance... "Yeah. He... He entered the lion's den." He gives her a wry smile, almost admiring the nerve. "It's bold."
"He's out of his mind." Alex's eyes dart around, checking what everyone else in the room is doing, if they're acting like they're missing anything. If someone could sneak in here and see our evidence without anyone realizing it until after he's gone...
"No," Bobby says, recognizing the behavior from some of the soldiers in the army, "it's worse." Soldiers you don't want to encounter in real life... Pulling himself up straighter as he takes a breath, he states his suspicion. "He doesn't know fear."
Alex's mind is silent for several long seconds, struggling to follow the logic of those four words while Bobby shifts back to his desk to look harder. She shakes her head, blinking repeatedly as she regains thought process. "How," she demands quietly yet insistently, "can anyone not know fear? It keeps us alive, it reminds us of our limits."
"Well," he shrugs, considering how to explain this, "he thinks he's invincible. Or damned close to it. Maybe he clinically knows human body limits, but he looks for ways around them." He sighs, acknowledging the need for fear. "And since he keeps raising the stakes, pushing himself, he wanted us to know that he'd been here. That's why he put a few things out of place and took others."
Sinking her head into her hand, Alex sighs. Great, she thinks, back to square one despite our efforts...
--
"He signed in using ID stolen from a messenger," Alex informs Deakins while she pushes up her sleeves, taking out the frustration of over an hour of going back and forth with Bobby on ways to find their intruder. Damned clever bastard, her mind grates. Her hackles heightened, they seep into her tone. "He came in during the shift change."
"So nobody paid any attention," Deakins remarks sharply. How the hell did this guy find out when we change shifts? We don't advertise it. Exhaling harshly, he drops the photos. "These are useless. Either his head's down or he's turned away." This guy's been in trouble before, he feels from the combined experiences of a cop and of a father of teenage daughters.
Bobby shakes his head. Can't wait to meet the mind that did this... "He came in with the vaguest of plans, and then he winged it," he comments casually while Alex presses her hands against the table. "Yeah, he's smart. He adapts. He's dancing on a high wire. If there's a leader in this scam, he's it."
Thank you, Deakins groans. I change to go home, and this gets dropped on me. At least the people upstairs are all home, so I can wait until tomorrow to report it... "So now everything we know about the scam, he knows." There's going to be hell to pay, he decides as he and Alex exchange a frustrated look, when I talk with the guys managing building security tomorrow...
"Well," Bobby corrects, off-hand, "he doesn't know we know this." At least, that we know what it's for... Motioning to the board where they've written long-shot winners from a dozen tracks, he explains, "You fix a race, one way to get caught is to put a heavy bet on a long-shot winner."
"Then the racing board," Deakins states, following the logic as he walks to the door frame to lean against it, "will want to know why he bet on that horse." How the hell do you explain that and get away with it?
"This program," Bobby explains, "would him an answer." He developed the idea while they were talking with Ferdie, and the last hour has allowed him to guess who the scheme is supposed to work. Taking a step forward to include Deakins, he presents his hypothesis. "I fix a race, I put every variable about my horse into the program. I do the same thing with every horse in every race." A tiny grin appearing, he finishes with the reason for the program's existence. "The program uses a combination of my winning horse's variables to pick horses in other races for me to bet on."
Nodding at both men, Alex adds, "If anybody questions your winning bet, you can point to your other bets and your handicapping system." Hard to believe, her gut still feels, but this has to be how they planned to use this.
Grimacing, Deakins resists shaking his head. Sounds too perfect...
A beat after Alex comments, Bobby continues, wryly grinning as he imagines the perps might after a success. "Turns my long-shot winner into some lucky pick by a sucker with a system." He motions aimlessly toward the table. "It's a smokescreen," he concludes. All, he thinks, to cover for a scam...
Folding her arms while Bobby talks, Alex waits a beat. "Now," she informs Deakins using the tone from before, this time laced with firmness, "we just need to pick out the sucker who's been using this system."
Pursing his lips, Deakins nods slightly. Here comes the fun part, his past experience with these two tells him.
"This program was created two weeks ago," Bobby states for their captain's benefit, "which means running two weeks' worth of racing results through the program."
Deakins shrugs. Status is better than I thought... "Can't be too tough for the State Racing Board." His eyes signal them to carry on, then he walks off. Time to go home...
But he looks back, slowing his stride to look like he's casing the remaining people to see what's being done. They're trading papers back and forth, with little speaking... Deakins sees the two step close to look at something together. Alex leans in slightly for a few seconds, then they both pull back, out of each other's space.
To anyone else, it looks like normal practice between partners. To Jimmy Deakins, who's watched these two for years because of their unusual history, this is different. They're acting, he feels as he forces his feet to the elevator, like they might be breaking the frat regs... and it doesn't look like it's hurting them teamwork...
Feeling tension in his temples, Deakins rubs them as he waits for the doors to open. Terrific, his mind groans. Just what I needed... My best team... The team I've gone on limbs for when other cops would've let them hang...
When he finally boards, his mind drifts to his options. So... do I take action now when there's only tiny oddities? Or wait until I see something more solid...? The answer won't come immediately, and he knows how this could be used to hurt a lot of people. God, he thinks, I need aspirin...