"How did you get this?!" Fulbright snatches the report away from Simon, examining it less for its content and more to verify that it is in fact, what the agents claim.
"What Detective Fulbright means is that he is—we both are—impressed with the speed in which you obtained your results." Right now, it seems, the agents are of the mind that Fulbright is here as Simon's assistant, common for most prosecutors when visiting a crime scene. He nods towards Fulbright, knowing he must keep his detective focused on the task at hand. "Detective, if you would?"
Fulbright only obeys after Simon gives him a more meaningful look, a silent plea for cooperation.
"Y-Yes, of course, Sir!" Fulbright clears his throat. "'The victim suffered a stab wound four inches deep, wherein the femoral artery was cleanly severed along with nearby muscles and tendons. Death occurred within fifteen minutes due to hypovolemic shock caused by massive and rapid blood loss.'"
Simon frowns, disappointed. Although the information is more precise than before, it's not new. "We know this already."
"You sure don't. That's what seals the deal, right there." Cage taps to the fragment about 'four inches deep'. "The U.S. Postal Service issues basic models of box cutters, that only extend to two and a half inches—still enough to sever the femoral artery on most people. But employees can use their own utility knives if they so choose. And Mr. Herr owned a sturdier, segmented model that could extend up to five inches. "
"You were right, Prosecutor Blackquill!"
Perhaps his theories are not as far-fetched as he second-guesses them to be, at times. It sends a certain thrill coursing through him, to think of presenting this updated report at precisely the right moment to inflict the lethal blow to the defense's case. He exhales a small sigh of relief.
"Well, this is... excellent. I thank you, agents, for your sterling work in uncovering such crucial evidence in a most timely manner. However, I want to make it known that Detective Fulbright and I also uncovered some interesting findings over the course of our own investigation. If you wouldn't mind, we'd like to share them and from there we can determine what matches, and discuss any discrepancies that might arise."
"There's no discrepancies, Blackquill," Parcells says, his tone as formidable as his build. "We have irrefutable evidence and a confession."
Fulbright asks, with no uncertain impatience, "What's this about a tape? If it's so decisive, then we want to watch it... we're obligated to!"
"Not a video tape." Parcells shakes his head. "Tape, like packing tape. Found a used roll of it not a few feet from where the murder took place. Herr's bloody prints were all over it. The victim's blood."
Simon nods. "And that is decisive... how, exactly?"
"This kind of tape is only available down at the dock—the scene of the crime. Showed it to Herr after we got the test results back." Cage smirks at them, and Simon wishes he could jostle these two about in the wuk the way he did Fulbright. "He caved. Confessed. He used the tape to seal away the knife, and we just found it now, before we ran into you. It was exactly where he told us it'd be: among some of the cargo in the back of his truck. The knife's handle even has a strip of masking tape with his name written on it. He was going to get rid of it along with the body, on his delivery route."
"Just like we thought, Sir!" Fulbright exclaims, but Simon is more concerned with what isn't corroborating.
"Ah, but there is your discrepancy already, Agent." Simon taps at his own temple, as if to point out he was using his mind whereas the agents weren't. "You said about the tape being found at the dock—the murder scene. From our investigation today, we've determined that while the body ended up in the loading dock, it is most likely the victim was killed in the sorting room."
Simon quickly describes the surplus of evidence gathered from the sorting room—the blood, the imprints on the chair. He leaves out mention of the computer, as without confirmation of what Officer Ng has found, if anything, he can not safely assume it's worth sharing. The agents listen without interruption, though Simon can't say he cares for their dismissive expressions.
Neither does Fulbright. "If you don't believe us, we'll gladly show you!"
"If you've got any proof of all this, Blackquill, we'd be more than happy to see it," Cage addresses Simon, and Simon alone. "Lead the way."
This is a test, he knows. They are not interested in what he and Fulbright have to share, only wishing to make it known the amount of power they wield, and to ascertain how compliant Simon will be to it.
They will discover that by challenging Simon, they serve only to challenge themselves.
The agents flank Simon and Fulbright by several steps as the four of them walk to the sorting room. They mutter to each other—about what, Simon can't make out, but no matter. Realizing this may be his only opportunity to touch base with Fulbright, Simon lowers his voice, praying that Fulbright can, for once, do the same.
"What is going on, Fulbright? Why are these agents here, and in possession of the evidence that you should have by now?"
"I don't know, Sir. This case was transferred to us hours ago! All the test results should have been sent to our division back at the precinct, and I should have been notified of anything urgent. Boy, they sure are rude, aren't they?"
"Nevermind that. Obviously there was some sort of communications snafu. Just allow me to do the majority of the talking with them, do you understand?"
"But, Sir! Federal agents aren't exactly easy to deal with—"
"Nor are you, Detective, and I feel I've done a respectable job thus far." Simon doesn't dare chancing a look back at the agents as they cross into the sorting room. He provides Fulbright with one final order. "Please. Trust me."
Fulbright manages a loose salute and a muted smile. "Yes, Sir."
"Huh," is all Cage can say as he rounds the wuk for a third time. Parcells says nothing at all, too busy keeping Officers Ng and Stone from interfering by shooting them hard, pointed glares when they inch too close.
Upon the foursome's arrival, Fulbright's team had been asked to clear out—by Fulbright himself, yes, but it was obvious this was not an order he was giving willingly. The officers had dispersed, with grumbling that only quelled after Fulbright promised to update them all in an hour, tops. Ng and Stone, though, had been adamant about watching from the entrance, and Simon can only conclude Ng is eager to share whatever she's discovered—something quite crucial, if she's this fiercely staring down a federal agent twice her size. Stone, on the other hand, looks to be holding a large, tightly-rolled parchment that must require Simon's and Fulbright's immediate attention.
"Hm... " Cage murmurs again, and the long thread of patience inside Simon, already pulled so taut, finally snaps. These agents are making a mockery of his discovery, of him, by conducting this examination in such a painstaking manner, and it takes all his willpower for Simon to keep his voice even, diplomatic.
"As you can see, it's difficult to discount this room as not having played some role in the crime. The amount of blood is reason enough."
Cage doesn't look at him, only continuing to run a gloved hand leisurely around the wuk's canvas exterior as he walks around it once again. "You said you found a bloodied uniform beneath all the packages, right?"
"The team here did, yes."
"Well, this whole mess is what was left behind. Look, every driver has a week's worth of uniforms here. Ya know, they bring in a new batch every Friday, and the worn ones go out for cleaning and—"
"I'm familiar with the concept," Simon cuts him off.
"Right. So there's a side room connected to the dock, sort of a break room, where all these uniforms are hung in separate lockers. Go and see how many Kerry Herr has left hanging for this week. Zero." Cage curls his fingers into the shape of the number, plainly unsure if Simon grasps what he's been told.
Parcells gives further explanation. "Herr dashed out to grab his spare uniforms; some to wipe up the blood, others to lay under the corpse in his truck, try and keep blood from getting all over it. Piled the dirtied ones into one of the wuks in the dock—he couldn't stash them all away in a package like he did the knife, and again, he wouldn't risk them staining his truck. And with a broken hand, it'd make it even tougher to carry. So he brought the rest of 'em to the ground level via the freight elevator, in the wuk."
This does sound a very plausible possibility, now that it's been presented to Simon. If he hadn't been in the sorting room until now—which these agents have not—and were to fully rely on what was found at the crime scene along with the accused's confession, it would all match up.
"And I'm to take it that Mr. Herr has detailed this to you?"
"It's what he told me," Parcells confirms.
"Only you, Agent Parcells?"
"Us," Cage corrects. But there is a shift in his eyes, an uncertainty that passes across his face, and Simon doesn't miss it.
"But a uniform wouldn't leave behind that much blood!" Damned Fulbright! He'd been so obedient up until now, somehow refraining from blurting out everything that flittered through his Fool Bright mind. But the truth is, he's only voicing the same thoughts looping through Simon's head. "And you saw the slit in the side of the wuk here. How else can the wound be explained? There's no way you'd try to kill someone by stabbing them in the thigh. It only could have occurred had the victim been trapped!"
Cage does not seem to have heard him, still utterly fascinated with the wuk and its bloodstain.
"Despite being instructed otherwise—" Simon serves Fulbright a look as sharp as the kodachi he practices with, before using it on Cage, "—Detective Fulbright asked you a question, Agent. I would like for you to answer."
"Sorry, didn't catch it. What was the question, again?"
Simon repeats what Fulbright asked, though in a less leading fashion.
Cage answers confidently, almost as though he expected this exact topic to surface. "First of all, if you can show me any of these ancient things don't have some kind of tear in them, I'll buy you dinner." The smile he flashes makes Simon's skin crawl, could be deemed predatory if this were outside a professional setting. "And if you consider the accused attacked in the midst of the struggle—didn't have a stationary target, that is, the fatal wound is real easy to explain. Plus, Herr sustained a fracture to his right hand consistent with having punched someone—or something—and why would he throw a punch if they hadn't been fighting?"
Simon's original hypothesis, even without Fulbright and his team having found anything indicating this to be so. Though visibly pained by doing so, Fulbright doesn't respond, instead giving Simon the chance to answer by asking his own question about the still undisclosed motive. "And what were they fighting about?"
"Personal dispute," Parcells says. "They've known each other—of each other, at least, for a long time. There was some bad blood between them. But it's clear that Herr was the aggressor in this. Because he admitted as much."
Huh, this is news. Especially since it directly contradicts what was told to him earlier—by none other than...
"That is fascinating, considering I spoke to a witness earlier who informed me the two men have no connection outside of their mutual occupation."
"Who—?" Cage begins, but Parcells barrels right over him. "You talked to Ursie...-la? Ursula?"
"Agent Parcells, are you... acquainted with Ms. Prior-Stewart? And how would you know it is she I spoke with?"
"I know everyone here, including the victim and defendant; a few months ago there was a string of armed robberies that hit a bunch of the metro offices. This is where I was stationed, both to investigate and as security."
"I see."
"And Ursula's the one who phoned in the call after one of the drivers discovered the body. We spoke to her first, and she gave us copies of the employee files for Herr and Ecsprest, too."
Another intriguing piece of information. He hadn't been granted access to these files; no, everything had been relayed to Simon verbally.
"I see," he repeats simply.
Too simply for Agent Parcells to not infer a particular meaning behind it. "I wasn't close to anyone here, so I can't tell you—"
"Except for 'Ursie', was it?" He offers a sarcastic smile, and swears he sees Cage trying to hide one too, head bowed as he removes the latex gloves from his hands.
"Knock it off, Blackquill. Don't get any ideas."
"I assure you, Agent, the last thing I wish to obtain from either of you is any sort of idea."
Where Simon expects Cage to support his partner in the form of an acidic remark, he only turns to Parcells with a certain curiosity. "Man, I didn't realize you were stationed here when you—"
"It's why I was assigned to this case in the first place," Parcells says, nowhere near as amused by this tangent. Which, despite his statement, gives Simon a fairly good idea of where Cage's comment was going. "They needed someone who's familiar with the layout; this place is huge, a maze. Thought you knew that, or at least figured."
Simon notes this, tucks it away safely in his mind. Perhaps the measure of communication between these two is not as open as they would have it appear. He has to wonder how long they've even known each other, prior to the initial investigation.
"If you know the layout and the staff so well, then you should join Prosecutor Blackquill in questioning Ms. Prior-Stewart before she takes the stand!"
Simon knows what's not being said behind Fulbright's suggestion; that there is something not entirely trustworthy about having these agents, and these agents alone, testify. Sure, it sounds innocent enough—any detective might suggest a witness, just to be on the safe side—but Simon has the inclination this is more a bait, that he's hoping the agents take.
They do. Parcells's eyes, still flinty and dark, widen. Like he's been cornered. "Okay, hold up; Ursula's not taking any stand. This case is open-and-shut, we've established all this."
"No, Agent Parcells, only you've established that. As it stands, there are still several discrepancies."
"There's no fucking discrepancies!" Cage snarls, as if he's the one being provoked. "If Bart here says she's not testifying, then she's not, and we're not wasting our time interviewing her!"
Simon doesn't flinch. "She volunteered to speak with me further, if necessary, and I feel strongly that it is."
"Oh?" Parcells looks between Simon and Fulbright with unconcealed loathing; his facade has shattered. "And which of you two jokers is gonna explain to Senator Prior and the rest of the media why you dragged his daughter in for questioning?"
"S-Senator?!" Prior: it's a common enough surname that Simon wouldn't have begun to assume she was related to the politician currently running for reelection.
It apparently means nothing to Fulbright. "If Prosecutor Blackquill wants her interviewed—especially if she's volunteered!—then there's no reason she shouldn't be! The law's not in place to overlook someone just because they're a senator's daughter. Ignoring her role in this case is a disservice to justice and I won't stand for it!"
"Neither will I!" calls a voice behind them.
Officer Ng sprints over from where she was standing in the doorway. She's small enough that, like a wraith, she slips between Simon and Fulbright, standing in front of them as she pushes onto her toes to address both the agents. "God, are you assholes done here or what?"
"It would seem 'or what', at this point," Simon replies, hardly joking.
"Well, wrap it up, already." Ng turns to Simon and Fulbright, excitement written all over her face. "Just wait 'til you see what I found in the victim's e-mail."
"And I finished these diagrams here!"
Simon turns to see Officer Stone approaching, stretching his arm in the general direction of Fulbright. It's snatched up by Agent Parcells's broad hand.
Cage leans towards Parcells to survey the blueprints, and throws a sharp grin at Officer Ng. "Don't worry, girlie, we can be plenty done here if you feel like cluing us in to what you did the honor of digging up for us."
It's a good thing both Simon and Fulbright are present; each of them have to block the officers from lunging at the agents.
"Hey, those are for Bobby, and Prosecutor Blackquill!" Stone declares as Ng starts with, "Who are you calling girlie, you pasty, horse-faced—"
"SILENCE!" Simon slices through their squabbling, much louder than intended or even, what he thought himself capable of. Everyone's gazes pan to Simon, fill him with an unnameable satisfaction. He clears his throat, staring down the lot of them. "Is anyone going to bother explaining what in blazes is going on?"
"I'll tell you what's going on, Prosecutor Blackquill! It's that these agents think they can push us around! Push you around!" Fulbright is very foolish, Simon already knows, but he hadn't understood to what extent until now, as he witnesses the detective prattle on despite the way Agent Parcells is sizing him up. "Well, I won't let that happen, not in the name of justice! Nothing they can tell us changes what we've found, what we've seen with our own eyes. I'm ready to take the stand and testify to what the evidence says, not what a couple of stuck-up jerks say!"
There's a thickly quiet moment where Parcells rolls the blueprints back up, and passes it back to Stone without breaking his glowering towards Fulbright. "Huh, I get it now. Why you're acting like such a hotshot about all this." Fulbright barely gets out a "Wh—!?" before Parcells continues. "What exactly do you think your role is in this case, Detective Fulbright?"
"What d'you mean, what I think? I'm the lead detective! Me, Bobby Fulbright!"
Don't do it!Simon mentally pleads that Fulbright not reach for the badge swinging from his neck. You tremendous git, don't do it!
He does it. "See! In justice we trust!"
Cage sneers, "And there is your discrepancy, Blackquill."
Simon begins to ask for clarification, but the disbelief on his face speaks for itself.
"What, you need it in layman's terms? We're your investigative partners, and have been from the beginning; this case never changed hands."