Timeline: Hours later

Rating: Pg-13

Chapter 23

Revelation

"Someone will say what is lost can never be saved,
Despite all my rage I am still just a rat in a cage."

–Smashing Pumpkins, Rat in a Cage

It occurred to Mark as he walked into his office that the precinct seemed to function without him these days. How funny that he'd once thought himself irreplaceable. The phones still rang, the analysts still typed, the detectives still sifted through the evidence in search of answers, and yet the whole system was pointless, their efforts leading nowhere, just like a rat that continues to race on the wheel, always ending up where it began. He wondered if they knew they weren't getting anywhere, or had they yet to realize the futility of spinning that wheel?

The ironic part was that because Mark was working on an unsolvable case, he had a lot of time to think about these things.

You're kidding yourself. The only rat in here…is you.

"Mark," Kerry said, snapping him out of introspection. She had a thick file in one hand and a newspaper article in the other. Her grimace indicated to him that it was bad news. Everything that came from the Herald usually was.

"New article about the Jigsaw Killer?" He asked it like a question despite already knowing the answer.

"Yeah. I don't know how Jenkins gets the information as soon as we do. I think we have a leak in the department," she said, shaking her head in distaste at the theoretical traitor.

"We can't let ourselves get paranoid," Mark said, although he was very preoccupied with the thought. That's all he needed- an annoyingly persistent investigative reporter who happened to have connections in the precinct and a knack for spotting potentially incriminating details. He skimmed the article, which was a lengthy piece covering many topics about the case, everything from more gory facts about the traps, information on the victims and John Kramer, and of course, more criticism of the homicide department. Mark's department. A team he once felt very proud of. By his own fault, he was helpless to truly make any useful advances in the case. The inability to be utilized and the knowledge that Pamela Jenkins was actually right, the department had become incompetent, irritated him to a degree he once thought impossible.

"But I have some good news too. We have someone in interrogation right now that could lead to a break in the case. If it pans out, Jenkins will have to change her tune," she said. Mark craned his head from the newspaper to Kerry to gauge her expression. She looked too exhausted to feel happy. Apparently her lead in the case had come at the expense of severe sleep deprivation.

"About the Jigsaw case? I'm astounded," he said, feeling apprehensive and shocked simultaneously, trying very hard to appear outwardly pleased. He coerced a smile against his reluctant lips.

"We found John Kramer's wife. Ex-wife," she said, correcting herself quickly, her error the result of fatigue. She plopped the file on Mark's desk, covering the hostile newspaper article as though a sign of hope that soon Jigsaw's reign of terror would end, and along with it, Jenkins' scathing criticisms. "Jill Tuck."

"She's in interrogation right now? You didn't consult me first?" Mark asked. What he really was in disbelief about was the fact that John had once been married at all.

"Sorry, Mark. It happened pretty fast and I just didn't think to update you. I apologize," she said. Mark nodded his head to indicate forgiveness.

"I understand, Kerry," he said as he stood up. "Let's not waste any more time."

As Kerry lead him to Room 2, it dawned on him for the first time that John must not have always been the person is presently was, and the thought was astonishing. At one point, John's life may have been…somewhat normal. His department had discovered something about John that even he had not known, despite actually being around the man himself for several months. Mark's department was more competent than he originally assumed. He felt a combination of fear for himself and Amanda, and pride that the detectives, many of them he'd trained personally, were more intelligent than he gave them credit for. Perhaps it wasn't so far-fetched to think that one day he might be on the opposite side of the interrogation, with his own people grilling him for answers.

Why did you help John Kramer? Kerry would ask, her hand on his shoulder, almost compassion in her voice. Mark knew better than anyone that it was all an act of course, to get him to confess. After she discovered Eric's fate, there would be no sympathy from anyone in the precinct.

Why the hell did you help this son-of-a-bitch? Rigg would follow up, his chest rising with animosity, his eyes burning into Mark's with so much intensity that he would have to look away in shame.

Good cop, bad cop; an old school method. Nearly as ancient as the art of criminal interrogation itself. The technique was classic, but so effective that everyone from the small, rural local departments to massive agencies such as the FBI and CIA still taught it.

Don't do that shit to me, Mark would retort coldly. I taught you good cop, bad cop, Kerry. So don't even try. Don't even fucking try…

Why did you let him do this to me? Eric would ask, if he could. Mark imagined his brutally mutilated friend limping into the interrogation room, using that pole for support. For the first time, Eric's reaction wasn't anger. It was heartache, confusion, pain. Even if Eric couldn't be there, his spirit would, asking him again and again the questions he could never answer.

How could you do this to me? How could you do this to anyone, you sick fuck?

I had no choice, Eric, Mark would explain. You wouldn't understand why I had to do it, so you might as well call my attorney to work out a deal.

Any lawyer willing to represent him would have to be someone smooth and disgusting and soulless, but efficient.

Someone like Art Blanc.

What an ironic turn of events. Even the mere memory of Art Blanc's smug smirk irritated him. Oh, what Mark wouldn't give to never see him ever again. By cruel coincidence, it was as though the thought of Art has summoned him into the room.

What the fuck is he doing here? I don't need him yet…

"Jill Tuck," Art said simply, his hands in his pockets, his thumbs protruding on the outside, his chest raised with confidence. The annoying overcompensating gesture made Mark roll his eyes, but at least Art's trademark sneer was suppressed.

"Where are you keeping her?" Art asked as though the woman was a prisoner of war or a princess locked away in a tower somewhere. He looked at Kerry with a hint of compassion.

"I'm sorry about Detective Matthews. I don't know what was going on between you two, but I know he was important to you."

"He's not dead, he's missing," Kerry snapped, her nostrils flaring and her eyes burning into Art's face as though she were trying to melt it from the force of her glare.

"Yeah," Art said, shrugging as if it made no difference. "Regardless of your denial, I offer my condolences for his 'disappearance'…although I suppose I'll have to offer it again when you finally find the body."

"Fuck you," Kerry spat. It wasn't typical of her to react that way to anyone's taunts, but Mark was at least grateful he didn't have to restrain her physically the way he would have had to do to Eric had the situation been in reverse.

"Kerry," Mark said, the single word was full of all the warning and reprimand necessary to calm her down. "Art, what the hell are you doing here?"

"I was supposed to meet Jill this afternoon and imagine my surprise when I find out she's been taken into custody," he said, looking accusingly at Kerry.

"First of all, she's not being interrogated as a suspect…yet. We just need more information on her ex-husband, John Kramer. And for that matter, I think I'd like to ask you a few questions as well. Might be useful to see what you know about your old business associate," she said coolly.

"What?" Mark said, glancing at Kerry with surprise. Another important detail that, in her tired and weary state, she'd forgotten to reveal to him.

"That was a long time ago, Detective," he said in a low growl. "I don't know anything that would be of use to the investigation, as poorly and ineffective as it seems to be going."

"We'll see about that. You just might know more than you realize," Mark said, his voice promising Art his own interrogation.

"Should we get started now, or would you like to call your lawyer first?" Kerry asked with a straight face and a genuine smile, the first one Mark had seen from her since Eric disappeared.

"Very funny," Art said, and the most obnoxious smirk Mark had ever witnessed finally made its debut. "But I wouldn't mind spending a few hours alone with you under…different circumstances."

Kerry kept herself under control this time, making Mark confident in her ability to interrogate Art alone without ripping him to shreds. Not that Mark would have particularly minded.

"Let's get started. I promise you, it's not going to be a fun ride," Kerry said, and for the first time, Mark sensed she was going to go the bad cop route. He smiled, feeling slightly proud, like a father watching his daughter hit a milestone.

"I'll begin the interview with Jill Tuck while her lawyer is otherwise preoccupied," Mark said with a grin, and Kerry dragged Art off to another interrogation room. Mark sighed, and mentally prepared himself before entering Room 2, slightly weary of meeting a woman that was either so blind or else so demented herself that she could marry someone as twisted as John Kramer.

"Ms. Tuck," Mark said, dropping the thick file on the table. He sat down in the chair across from her and grinned as though she were an old friend stopping by to say hello rather than a potential suspect he was about to interrogate in one of the most violent, and certainly the most infamous homicide case he'd ever worked. She looked up at Mark with a stolid stare, remarkably similar to John's typical demeanor. Mark wondered if maybe John and Jill had been drawn to each other by their matching cold and lifeless expressions.

"I'd like to ask you a few questions," he said.

"What do you want to know?" she asked. Her tone didn't match her words. Mark could tell she was not going to easily offer anything. She wanted to be in and out as quickly as possible. Convince them she knew nothing and was not involved with John since the killings began before going on her merry way. Although Mark knew there was no way she was involved, (he undoubtedly would have figured it out by now if she had) he was genuinely curious about Jill Tuck and her relationship with John, and he still had to keep up the charade that he was desperately trying to find the Jigsaw killer.

"You can start by telling me the kind of person John was when you were married to him," Mark said, paused, and then added, "And after. We need to know about the kind of person John was and is now."

"That could take a very long time," Jill said. "I have a clinic to run. I don't have time for a lengthy chat about my ex-husband. Besides, we have been disconnected for a long time. I have no idea who he is now."

Mark began skimming though her file. Something he should have done before he entered the room, although given the time restraint, that really wasn't his fault. Had been any other case, he would have insisted on being more through, but this was hardly any other case. This was a case with no end. Hopefully.

"Disconnected? Did John seem secretive or paranoid while you were still married? Do you know if he kept a room, a safe, a drawer, or something similar that you couldn't have access to?"

"No. He never had anything like that. There were no secrets between us. But near the end of our marriage, he was more…cold. Callous. Unfeeling. In the end, that's what separated us. That's what ended our marriage."

Mark could easily imagine it. That sounded more like the John Kramer he knew.

"Can you think of anything that could have triggered this…sudden change of personality?"

Jill shrugged. "There were a lot of things…did you even read the file? You didn't, did you? That's why your eyes keep drifting towards it instead of me. You should bring in the other detective. She seems a lot more competent."

With that simple statement, Mark's mood shifted from neutral to aggravated in a matter of seconds. She was as annoying and pompous as her attorney.

Good cop time is over.

"We found a harlequin doll in your possession. What's that about?" he smacked down a picture of John's puppet on the table. The freakish doll seemed to smile back at them.

"It's a toy. The kids play with toys. That's all it is."

She looked away. Hoffman leaned down close to her, invading her personal space, speaking in intimidating whispers. All good questioning techniques that made it look like he was truly digging for answers, even though he was just another rat trapped on the never ending wheel.

"How about the tricycle?" he asked. He circled her predatorily.

"The tricycle is from John's youth," she replied, her face neutral, her voice clearly conveying her irritation.

"A grown man has a tricycle his whole life?" Mark asked skeptically. It was an amusing thought, imagining serious John being sentimental enough to hold on to such a childish object.

"I've sure you've kept things that were important to you," she replied quietly. She had a point, but it was photographs, most of them of Angelina. Not toys. Besides, he didn't take John for the type of man who held onto anything. He didn't think John was capable of that emotion, or any emotion for that matter.

"Look, Ms. Tuck, is there any reason we should be concerned for your safety?"

"Perhaps you should be more concerned for yourself," she snapped. She raised a good point, and not even she knew how completely accurate she was. Time to change the subject again, and quickly.

"Why don't you tell me anything you know about John, and let's start at the beginning," Mark said, leading the discussion elsewhere.

"John's life defies chronology and linear description," she said. Her non-answer reply was quite revealing, although it gave him more insight into her than John. She was intelligent, and a part of her still admired John. Had he once been someone worthy of admiration? But…what was left there to respect now? Talking to her seemed to raise more questions than the ones she answered.

"So why don't we start at the end and work our way backwards?" he suggested, but before Jill could reply, they were interrupted by a third party.

"I represent Ms. Tuck," Art cut in, swooping in like a valiant knight, his designer suit his armor in this legal battle.

"That was quick," he muttered mostly to himself as Art continued to rant about how she was being mistreated by the oh-so-brutal police.

"…interrogated by three different detectives over a period of several hours, taking her away from her patients who desperately need her. This is ridiculous, if you continue this interrogation, we will take legal action-"

Mark tuned out Art's almost textbook tirade on criminal civil rights. The faint ticking of his watch was more enthralling than the constant droning of Art's snobby voice. His attention drifted towards the time. Euphoria was roughly a half hour drive. Noah would be getting off his shift in less than an hour. Mark would be cutting it close unless he left immediately.

"We'll continue this another time then," Mark said, complying with Art and putting up no resistance as he gathered the papers and shoved them into the file before taking off. Mark's easy acceptance of defeat astonished both Art and Jill.

For the first time in Art Blanc's life, he was speechless.

"Mark, do not get Noah yet," Amanda said, sounding slightly panicked.

"What? Why not? You told me-"

"There was…a complication," Amanda explained. "The trap malfunctioned."

"Oh, shit," Mark said. "What happened?"

"Bad wiring or something. I don't know exactly. All I know is that if someone had actually been in that trap when he tested it…um, well…" she was at a loss for words, but they both knew what she wasn't saying.

"They would be dead," he finished for her. He shook his head in annoyance.

"Well…yeah," she said, her voice shifting uncomfortably.

"So John screwed up."

"Don't! Let's not do this tonight, please," Amanda pleaded, already anticipating where Mark was going to go with this.

"Apparently he's not as all-knowing as you make him out to be. Surely you must see that now?" Mark said, unable to resist attempting to make her see the truth, even now.

"Whatever, Mark. Anyway, the trap isn't ready yet, so hold off on getting Noah."

There is was again. That damn euphemism. 'Get'. Don't 'get' Noah yet. Like he's supposed to pick him up for a fucking surprise party.

If want to say kidnap or abduct, just fucking say it, Amanda.

"Okay," he said. "By the way…"

No, Mark. Please. Don't put me on the spot. Not yet…

"I need you here," she blurted out.

"What?" Mark said, completely taken aback.

"I mean, we need you to help us with a part of the trap. So get here when you can."

"Let me guess…it's something electrical?" he said. Amanda could practically hear him smirking.

"Oh, shut up," she said. He heard an exasperated groan and then a click.

He chuckled.

"Face it, Mandy, I got you beat in that area," he said, despite knowing she was no longer on the other line. He might not have had the audacity to call her Mandy otherwise. Then again, after last night, he wondered if a simple nickname would really be so out of line. He was surprised with how easily it slipped out too. It felt almost…natural.

"Mandy," he said, nodding his head, pondering it like a foreign word he just learned the meaning to. He liked how it sounded, but he wasn't so sure it would go over well with her. It hadn't even been 24 hours since they'd slept together and he was already thinking of pet names. Then again, she'd had 'Detective' for him since the beginning. Wasn't it only fair?

Maybe he'd just have to save it for a day when he didn't mind pissing her off.

It was a bit annoying that Mark actually surpassed her in one area. Other than his physical strength, which was an obvious benefit and the primary reason he was a necessity, he was much better than her at electrical wiring. This had been apparent when they were setting up the door that eventually led to Gus's demise. Even John noticed and commented with approval that Mark did have some knowledge in that area, much to Amanda's annoyance.

"See, that's the great thing about you. You don't need to think, Mark. You just need to lift when we tell you to lift," she said with a smile, as all her particularly scathing remarks did. She made her doubt in Mark's abilities very clear and blunt.

"Save it, Amanda. It's gonna work," Mark said, looking over his shoulder to smirk at her. And when it did indeed work, almost perfectly, as he later pointed out to her, she couldn't even come back with a witty reply. She just frowned.

Amanda hated to be wrong.

"Hey, it's all set. We fixed the problem," Mark said, bringing Amanda out of her memory.

"Oh yeah?" she said. "Good."

She was still unusually quiet, meaning she either hadn't made a decision…or the decision wasn't what he wanted to hear. Damn.

"You know, you may think I'm only good for heavy lifting, but you have to admit that in this one area, I might have you beat," he said, smiling.

"Whatever. I still make better traps than you," she shot back. Her head tilted upwards and to the side like a complete snob. Amanda had a competitive streak, and since he was stronger than her and better at wiring, she had to excel him at something.

"That's because-"

He almost said, "That's because John doesn't let me make traps." Not a good idea unless he wanted her sticking her nose in his business and figuring out his connection to Seth. After all, that was the reason Mark wasn't exactly keen on designing traps, and thankfully, John never asked that of him. That was all John and Amanda's area, and he didn't want any part of it.

Luckily, he caught his error before it became uncorrectable.

"I'm not desperately seeking John's approval," he said.

"Oh, please. You don't design anything because you can't design anything," she said.

He thought about the hours he'd spent planning and making the pendulum trap…

"It takes a certain creative mind…" Amanda began boasting.

Mark ascended a ladder to set the blade high enough and adjust the angle so that gravity would continue to swing it back and forth as it descended into Seth's abdomen.

"…to invent traps and plan out all the details…"

So he hadn't used tempered steel, but the important thing was that in the end, it still did the job, didn't it? And he wasn't in it for the long haul. He only wanted one single trap, one single victim…

"…something you wouldn't know anything about."

His trap had been crafted with as much meticulous detail and warped creativity that it had passed for one of John's own by the police. In fact, he recalled several detectives saying it was one of Jigsaw's more gruesome traps. What a horrific mess he had made! Blood smeared and guts scattered all over the room as though someone had taken a chainsaw to Seth and just went at it. Despite the brutality, the only person Mark felt sorry for was the poor bastard who had to clean up what remained of him.

"Yeah," Mark replied, "You're probably right about that. I'll just stick to the heavy lifting and electrical wiring. You and John and can have all the fun designing things to kill people with."

"Rehabilitate, not kill!" Amanda protested. As far as Mark was concerned, it was just another one of their euphemisms.

"Anyway…" Amanda said, wanting to deter the subject as she always did when the conversation lead back to their most frequent argument. "How's the case going? Got any leads?"

"Oh, yeah. We're gonna nail that son-of-bitch any day now."

Amanda giggled. It was an old joke, not even a very good one, but it never seemed to expire. The way he kept a straight face every single time made it even funnier. But deep inside, it also sparked a bit of fear in both of them. The department didn't know about Amanda's involvement…yet. But every time she asked, there was a tiny part of her that worried they'd find a fingerprint, a piece of DNA, something that would tie her into the case. Maybe that's why the joke was still funny. It wasn't humor, but just relief that made her laugh.

"Actually, I did find out something very interesting at work today," Mark said.

"What?" Amanda said, her eyes widening with concern. "Why didn't you say something earlier?"

"Whoa, relax-"

Mandy.

"Amanda." He caught himself. Next time he might not be so lucky. "It's nothing to worry about. Nothing…incriminating."

"Oh. Than what is it?"

"Did you know John was married?" Mark said.

"What?" Amanda said. She looked baffled.

"Yeah, that was my reaction too," he smirked. "I stopped by work and Ms. Jill Tuck, formerly Mrs. Jill Kramer, was in my interrogation room."

"That's just…weird. Well, what did they want with her?"

"Just to ask her some questions. Nothing in particular. Standard stuff."

"What's she like?" Amanda pried. Mark gratified her curiosity.

"Well, I didn't talk to her that long. But she's intelligent and…cold. Pretty much how I would imagine any woman would be after being married to John for several years."

"That's just a weird idea. I can't really picture him married," she said, making a face like a small child grossing out over the sight of their parents having a public display of affection.

"Yeah. So much for detaching emotionally," Mark muttered, loud enough for Amanda to hear.

"What are you getting at, Mark?" Amanda asked.

"Well," he said, "He lectures us on 'detaching emotionally', yet he was married once."

"I'm sure it was a long time ago," Amanda said flatly. "I'm sure the detaching thing only applies now, because now there is a legacy to fulfill."

"Yeah, I guess so. Kind of contradicts with 'Cherish your life' though. I mean, it's kind of hard to do that without having some emotional connection to people," he said. He had given a lot of thought to things John said, and the more he thought about it, the more he found contradictions. Or perhaps, he admitted, he hated the man so much they merely seemed like contradictions in his own mind. Regardless, he was pretty certain he'd snagged a hole in John's philosophy this time, unless 'Cherish your life," only applied to the rest of society, and they were somehow exempt, which really didn't seem fair at all. It was pretty much the only Jigsaw mantra he thought worthy of merit. If it applies to anyone, it should apply to everyone.

"Yes, Mark, I guess John is just a big fucking hypocrite. There, I said it. Are you happy now?" Amanda sneered.

"You know what would make me happy," he said. He looked down at her, all the hostility washed away from his features. He looked both hopeful and melancholy at once. Amanda sighed away the anger in a single deep breath. It was hard to stay mad at him when he looked at her like that. It was hard to stay mad at him at all, so long as he wasn't attacking John.

"Yeah, I know," she said. "I just…need to think about it more," she said, looking up at him with uncertainty. He nodded his head and bit his lip, bit back words he wanted to say. He had pleaded his case enough already. No more pressure until she gave him a firm 'no'. Then, if she did deny him, it would be a different story. She wouldn't be able to say a simple hello without him compelling her to change her mind.

They could be good together. Hell, he knew they were good together. And she knew it too. That was probably the most infuriating part. Knowing she wanted him just as much and knowing she wouldn't do anything about it.

The other infuriating part just walked through the door as Mark was mulling that over in his mind.

"The game will begin tomorrow night," John said after he walked into the room. His presence silenced them both immediately. Amanda bowed her head slightly, as she frequently did when John entered the room, a subconscious act of subservience. Mark just glanced over at him with annoyance for the disruption, although hopefully John had not caught on that he was interrupting anything.

"Okay," Mark said. He lingered, looking at Amanda wistfully. He saw John looking at him strangely. It dawned on Mark that he was probably wondering what he was still doing there. The task he'd needed him for was over and his business with him completed; he had been dismissed for the day. Sticking around wasn't going to help Amanda decide anyway, as much as he'd like to think his mere presence might help in the decision making process…or else muddle her mind completely and help him claim another unfair victory like the night before.

"Tomorrow night, I won't forget," he said, grabbing his keys and jacket. He changed to a sarcastic tone as he added, "I'll circle it on my calendar."

"Okay then," John said, ignoring the sarcasm, treating him like an obnoxious fly he couldn't swat away. He nodded his head slowly in agreement. "Good."

If I did, you can bet I would fucking write 'kidnap' instead of 'get'. I'd actually own up to it like a man, you passive aggressive son of a bitch.

"Have a good night, Mark." John said, coaxing him out the door, a final warning.

Fuck off and die. Preferably painfully, and soon.

"Good night, John," Mark said, impressing even himself at how almost genuine it sounded. It was common knowledge between the three of them that Mark hated him, but not even John had any idea just how much. He didn't know that Mark often had brief daydreams throughout the day of putting John in one of his own traps, or even just taking him out in an old school fashion, like shooting him in the head or smothering him with a pillow. Classic, but effective. He didn't know about how Mark had planned all the ways he'd like to kill him, and all the ways he could set it up so that it would look like suicide or an accident. Maybe his own trap would malfunction and kill him.

God, why hadn't Amanda called him to tell him John had died in his own trap? Such beautiful irony that would be…

Granted, that "box of information" John apparently had stashed away somewhere might be quite an inconvenience after he was dead, and it was discovered, but it couldn't hurt to dream, could it?

No, John didn't know the extent of one of his accomplice's seething hatred, and Mark liked to keep it that way, because he wasn't foolish enough to assume he was irreplaceable. On the contrary, he was quite expendable, and he knew it too. Better to shut his mouth and bottle up his anger than to make John decide he was no longer worth the risk or trouble of maintaining.

Besides, one day he'd be free of him. John Kramer couldn't live forever…even if it was beginning to feel like it.