SBPD Station...
At Lompoc Federal Penitentiary potential murder vic called in. May or may not be the first. Suspected homicide, requires outside assistance.
Staring at it, Chief Vick couldn't help but think it wasn't a hell of a lot to go on. It wasn't even a file, which she didn't mind much. Too many more files and they'd run out of room under cold cases in the record room. Looking at the short email she found she still felt pissed about it.
"Requires outside assistance." Hell, it was practically an order. She scowled to herself as she brushed sweaty blond hair away from where it was plastered on her forehead. Despite the efforts of the overtaxed AC system, as testified to by the constant loud thrumming and rattling, the California heat had filled the station, making the already stressed atmosphere worse. Downstairs two petty thieves in holding had to be released for treatment to deal with heat stroke. Their lawyers were threatening to file charges against the SBPD for improper treatment.
Standing abruptly and abandoning her was-once-comfortable office chair, Karen Vick strode over to the side of her office where wall windows gave her a clear view of the entire station- and them a good view of her, their 'fearless leader'- and snapped the blinds closed. The sudden darkness, disturbed only by the soft glow of the computer screen, was a relief. Ignoring the computer and the teeter stacks of yellow casefile folders and reports awaiting her attention, she sighed and leaned against the wall, sagging against its support.
When did everything go wrong? She wondered.
Her mind supplied an answer in the form of a long avoided memory and she allowed herself to slide down the plaster walls, sinking to the floor. If only she hadn't played along with Spencer. If only she had been more careful. If only she had stopped the news from leaking to the press when it did. If only she had been less focused on her job and how He helped her, she might still have her family, have her daughter.
She closed her eyes, a disgusted look taking over her features.
If only's were useless. She learned that six years ago.
Standing up, she stepped over to the light switch to turn it on, fully aware of her surroundings even in the dark. After all, she spent half her life cooped up in this office, more now than ever. She had often fallen asleep at that very desk, so focused on the screen before her that she could pretend she didn't see her whole life in the aftermath of the Incident, as it all fell down, the job had become her life.
Easing her protesting body back into the desk chair, the lights now back on and shades open as though nothing had ever happened, the Chief settled back to work. Glancing at the screen, she froze as she saw a new line of text.
At Lompoc Federal Penitentiary potential murder vic called in. May or may not be the first. Suspected homicide, requires outside assistance.
They were warned.
She blinked and stared at the screen, certain that had not been there before and praying her eyes weren't playing tricks on her. She was so absorbed in the strange appearance that she jumped when a timid knock sounded at her door. With a breath to calm herself she called out for the officer outside to enter.
"Hello, Chief."
"Captain McNab. Did something happen with any of the cases in organized crime?"
The large Captain rubbed a calloused hand over the stubble on his jaw, evidence that, combined with the dark circles under his eyes, spoke of sleepless nights trying to control criminal activity in Santa Barbara. Sleepless nights had become something everyone in the SBPD understood. While crime flourished, so did coffee houses all over the city.
"No, Chief. Actually, I was planning on visiting you sometime or another to request leave to visit Francie and the baby when this undercover job is over but that isn't what I came for right now."
McNab threw her a weak smile that she recognized. He was probably too worn down from continuously bolstering the spirits of all of SBPD's finest to offer her any better. She didn't blame him. He was like an overly-eager puppy that had been kicked too many times but he just kept getting back up. It's how he rose in the ranks so quickly to make it to Captain of Organized Crime. He put up with everything everyone threw at him and responded with a smile and a "yes, sir." A lot of it probably came from putting up with Lassiter, who was never easy to get along with, especially after It happened. Still, the promotion had been good for him in many ways, too. It took more backbone to take what he took when he didn't have to than it took to give 'em hell back.
"This was sitting on my desk in my office, Chief." He held out a plain brown box.
"No one saw anyone enter but there was a typed note on my desk instructing me to give it to you. I had one of my men check it, even though there's little chance someone could smuggle a bomb into the station. They said it appeared to be a normal package," He paused, then added, "not that packages normally appear out of thin air." He handed it over.
Chief Vick took the package tentatively, a puzzled frown on her face and her eyebrows drawn together as her fingers ran over the smooth brown cardboard.
"Would that be all, McNab?" Her voice came out sharper than she'd intended. For some reason she wanted to open the box alone. It felt personal somehow.
The man just smiled and nodded, stepping out of the office with a straight back and a confident step. She turned back to the package and, unconsciously hesitating, glanced back at the strange line of writing still on her desktop. With her eyes narrowed determinedly and her curiosity spiked at how someone got this through security, she pulled the top of the box open...
And gasped, feeling the blood drain from her face as she looked at what was inside, something she hadn't seen in six years. Memories flooded her mind.
Shawn Spencer, fake psychic detective extraordinaire, smiled winningly at Chief Vick while distractedly playing with the glass fish figure she kept on her desk. Inside, she groaned, well aware that a bright grin like that always promised trouble when Shawn was involved.
"Mr. Spencer, I'll have you know, you are not officially assigned to this case..."
Ignoring her remark, he continued to grin inanely, waiting for her to break down and let him on. As he did, he began tossing the fish in the air.
She winced in anticipation of the moment it would hit the floor. It didn't.
Instead Shawn calmly began to speak, explaining his reasons for being on the case as he snatched her letter-opener now. One of his main reasons appeared to be his "awesomely incredible hair."
He continued to grin infuriatingly at her as he tossed both items in the air, juggling them with surprising dexterity as he elaborated on his hair and his psychic mojo skills. Without missing a beat, he took her coffee mug next, then as she watched with a morbid curiosity normally reserved for idiots who jumped out of planes without parachutes, he snagged her scissors. Soon other items joined the mix until half of her desk was whirling mesmerizingly in the air just beyond her reach.
He continued to prattle on and she waited for the crash that didn't come, so focused that she didn't notice McNab come in. She jumped and Spencer stopped, catching the items raining down around him in his arms and, once, on his head. She stared as he dumped the load on her desk. McNab stared, too. Spencer shrugged self-consciously. "Well," he began as way of explanation. "I was dating this hot lion-tamer chick in Argentina..."
The conversation continued and after Spencer left, the Chief straightened out her stuff. It wasn't until that night that she noticed the fish was gone, but she never had the chance to talk to him about it before It happened, and thoughts of the fish were long forgotten.
With an awed sort of trepidation, Chief Vick lifted the fish out of the box. There was a green post it note attached to the bottom. She would recognize that handwriting anywhere, even after all these years.
Good luck with your retirement. Gus convinced me a pineapple wasn't the appropriate gift for the one person with the guts to attend the trial, so I had this arranged... Take a deep breath and don't worry, the fish is fine. Dropping it won't shatter it, and you can glue that fin back on with the superglue Lassie never bothered to get rid of. Third drawer down.
Her eyes grew wide. She hadn't told anyone but Carlton about her retirement plans yet.
With a start she realized that in her shock she had dropped the fish. She reached down to pick it up and stepped on something. She picked it up. It was the fin.