"Like hell you are!"
The words are crossing Simon's mind as they fly off Officer Ng's lips. It takes her three male colleagues to prevent her from launching herself at the agents once again.
"Hey, don't get mad at us, little lady. Your 'lead detective' here"—Cage motions to Fulbright—"is the one who didn't want this case bad enough to follow basic procedure."
"Don't listen to them, Prosecutor Blackquill," Officer Stone chimes in. "They're just trying to trick you; they want all the credit."
Simon's mind feels like one of Aura's unfinished projects; wires crossed here, a few bolts loose there. He is only just able to process the continuing argument between the officers and the agents.
Even more puzzling is the dynamic between the agents themselves. Simon is of the impression their professional partnership is in its nascency, but the way they speak, volleying off each other's sentences...
"Hey, we saved you a lot of time and energy... and expenses—"
"—so be grateful."
Something doesn't add up. Or, perhaps, adds up too neatly.
Ng thwacks Simon across the arm, perhaps meant to be a nudge of encouragement. Simon winces, and concludes she must have siblings of her own. "Come on, Prosecutor Blackquill, are you really going to listen to these fucking guys? Wally's right, all they care about is getting the chance to be the big damn heroes. Because I can bet you my next paycheck that their unit hasn't seen a real-ass murder since the Pony Express was around!"
"'These fucking guys' are in charge of the investigation," Cage stabs a finger threateningly towards the officers. "So keep jawwing at us, and see where that gets you with internal affairs."
"Wrong. Prosecutor Blackquill's the one in charge of it all!" Stone looks to Simon. "Tell them to take a walk already."
Fulbright is unnervingly quiet throughout this. Simon throws a quick glimpse his way, sees him despondent in a manner that does not seem congruent with his personality. As though he, unlike anyone else in the room, has an inkling as to where all this dissension is rooted in.
"No, Officer Stone, I will not ask them to take a walk. Rather—" Simon nods to the agents. "—I would like for you, agents, to instead walk me through from when you began the case, until... well, until the crux we currently find ourselves amid. "
"No problem." As Simon expects, Parcells is the one to speak about the case. "So, we conducted the initial investigation yesterday afternoon and, after confirming it was a homicide, arrested Herr under probable suspicion. This was in the late evening, maybe eight or nine. He was interrogated for a good hour, but wouldn't say a word."
"Other than that he 'knew' he'd be brought in for questioning, from what I understand."
"Yup, but we didn't have any hard evidence to break him, only circumstantial stuff. So we passed it off, to you guys."
And Simon picks up, from what is a most basic knowledge, "Because the LAPD's homicide division has more sophisticated means with which to obtain definitive results, yes. And a detective accepted the transferral. I then received word rather late in the evening that I would be assigned to prosecute, with the understanding we would investigate together this morning. But this detective had to bow out due to a family emergency, and there was a mad scramble to find a substitute."
"Yeah, and then I was assigned to it!" Fulbright exclaims at the same time Parcells finishes with "And no one ever picked it up after that."
Simon half expects Fulbright to stamp his foot petulantly. "I did! My captain even asked me, since I just got promoted and—"
"We never heard about it. Neither did your captain," Parcells says, fluidly bringing the conversation back to the case. "Didn't think Herr'd be so easy to break with just one piece of damning evidence. The tape. But, hey, guess he knew there was no point in keeping silent, at that point. Just like there's no point in transferring this case now."
Bollocks, of all the times for the agents to be so civil and even-tempered, it's now. Simon wishes Fulbright would follow suit. He can't bear to hear more whinging, and attempts to diffuse the situation. "Right, but still, I believe our findings are rather valuable and... we want this to be as incontrovertible as possible, so..."
"'So'?" Cage asks sharply.
"So, perhaps there was some... some sort of miscommunication? Er, that is... perhaps the form was delivered to the wrong desk?" But Simon's words are dull, ineffective and handled more maladroitly than his first attempt at wielding Cykes-sama's ōdachi.
The glaring similarity then, and now, is the lack of conviction which he displays. Making him easy prey to Parcells giving a simple reply in the form of a scoff.
"Look, Blackquill, you might be new, but don't think you can use that as an excuse for trying to pull a fast one on us. I get it, you wanna suck up to the PD, get some brownie points with them. That's fine. But you can't just let your detective waltz on in unauthorized, without paperwork or notifying us—"
"Hold your tongue, agent. There's no need for such snap judgments of my character." Simon's heart is pounding, but they can not see him crack, no more than they already have. Laying the truth out is a necessity regardless of whatever disadvantage he's in. "I was—we all were—under the assumption Detective Fulbright here had properly followed procedure. He is not the sort to practice such chicanery, that much I know."
"That's right, and I'd never break the rules either! And see, I do have it, right here!" Fulbright flips open his notebook, and pulls out the paperwork he'd shown Simon earlier in the day, that proved Simon was the one who legitimately belonged.
Cage snatches it away, studying it for all of two seconds before passing it back to Fulbright. "No, we definitely never heard a damn thing about this. We contacted your captain before coming here, just to make sure there wasn't some kind of mix-up on either end. But he said despite asking around, no one got back to him about taking over the case."
Gods, how could anyone within a five-mile radius not have heard Fulbright carrying on about this case, and his bleeding dedication to it?
"Wh—...? No, what are you talking about?" Fulbright's resolve withers away. Simon imagines it's not only from the fact that he's made a mistake, but that it's come to light in front of so many peers. "But... he told me he wanted me to take the case! And so I came here, right away, because I knew Prosecutor Blackquill and all the officers waiting for Detective Vatai would be here!"
"Bobby..." Officer Stone cautiously approaches him, and takes the form, looking it over. "Didn't you fax this to the captain, though? I know this is your first lead case but even if he asks you, he needs to know that you officially accepted it. What if you'd had some emergency come up like Vatai did, and couldn't take it even after you said you could?"
Fulbright falls silent, his expression neutralizing and his gaze sliding sidelong, away from anyone. All the telltale signs of someone trying to process terrible news.
Simon could laugh at the irony, and he nearly does, bringing his hand up to cover what comes out as forced cough. He'd prayed for Fulbright, in all this enthusiasm, to bungle up somewhere along the way. To have his spirits, so unbearably high and, Simon had thought, unbearably fabricated, squashed because there was no room for such emotions when it came to the grisly, unaffected reality of investigating crime scenes.
And yet, it was this refreshingly upbeat demeanor that had guided Simon through what would have been an otherwise discouraging and terribly overwhelming afternoon.
"B-But... I mean, see, you guys see it now, and—"
"Whatever. Don't get so fucking bent out of shape about it, Fulbright." Cage sounds not quite exasperated, but about as impatient as Simon would expect him to be at this point. Funnily, about how Simon would have expected himself to be after so much time with Fulbright. "You can still help, you just won't get the credit. But that's not what this case is about, is it? What justice is about?"
"Well, no, of course not! But—!"
"Agent, there is no need to further provoke Detective Fulbright." Something, an awful something, spreads through Simon chest, slow and syrupy and dark. Their tones, the deliberate goading in their words; it is too familiar, too horribly familiar. The autopsy report is held to his chest, one hand covering the other. His pinky rubs where Athena's band would be.
"Don't tell me you're trying to defend him?" Parcells sounds truly offended, betrayed, as if Simon bears any loyalty to the federal unit. "This is a serious error, and you're gonna be in deep shit for it too. This is the exact sort of thing we try to avoid by having a transfer procedure set up in the first place. So you can thank your partner here, when your superior's notified about how you tried to sneak him and a whole team into an investigation without any authorization."
"Hey, wait just a second!" Fulbright pipes up. "It's not his fault. He has nothing to do with this! I'm not his partner. I'm just... a replacement! Isn't that right, Prosecutor Blackquill?"
Simon's fraying nerves don't allow him to utter anything more than, "Fulbright..."
"I've never even met him before today, and I sure didn't ask to work with him!"
"Fulbright, not another word, or—"
"So don't you dare talk to him like that, don't you dare threaten him for my mistake! Or I'll—"
"Fulbright!" His free hand locks to his detective's shoulder, steers him away from the group and over to the computer desk in the far corner.
Fulbright blinks, bewildered, though no less tense. Beneath Simon's palm, the cardigan sweater feels scratchy, stiff from the strain of Fulbright's rigid stance.
"You need to calm yourself. Immediately." His request tastes bitter as he realizes he sounds exactly like the teachers and even his own parents, who did not understand how powerfully words could affect a person.
"I'm trying to be calm! They can say what they want about me, fine, but you saw how they acted towards my officers! And what they're saying about you! Like you're some idiot!" Wait, Fulbright is more concerned about this hostility being directed towards Simon? Not about his own embarrassing blunder? "I'm not going to let them do this, Sir, we're so close to really making a break and—"
"Fulbright, you..." Simon realizes he's still resting his hand upon Fulbright's shoulder, and lets it drop away. "You must leave me to fend for myself. You haven't any other choice. This is no longer your battle to fight."
For all he is certain that Fulbright has not taken heed to a single word he's said, it is this instruction that visibly registers. Fulbright looks, so pitifully defeated, over Simon's shoulder, to Stone and then Ng. "Guys, maybe... call it a day, alright? I'll check in with all of you later, and... I'm sorry." His gaze shifts to Simon as he repeats himself. "I'm sorry, Sir."
To match his expression, Fulbright sounds so pitifully defeated. Simon hates it, more than he hates Fulbright's frightful sweater or his repeating of justice this and justice that until it wasn't even a word anymore.
And he hates what he instructed Fulbright to do earlier, to rid himself of his brilliant smile, because that's precisely what happens as Fulbright turns to follow his officers. Under his breath he is mumbling to himself, the only parts Simon picking out from his garbled string being "they" and "disappointed" and "so upset."
"Fulbright, wait. I need to... you should..." Simon makes a vague sort of gesture, mostly meaning that Fulbright should quiet himself, but also for him to return. He cannot finish his thought; there are too many to choose from. To apologize? To thank you? To ensure you won't take this misstep as an end-all be-all reflection of your ability as a detective?
Fulbright pauses, backtracks his few steps. "Oh, that's right, Sir. Here." He passes the puppy dog notebook, with all the information they've collected, to Simon. "Here's all you've found out today. During your investigation."
"No, I... I'm only trying to tell you... you may be irritating, a fool, but they are..." Simon attempts to select the right word, but all he can think is bullies. It's childish, will make him sound childish. Although, it is how he feels in the moment. So terribly helpless, confused, the way he can't bear to see Athena. "I don't know if I can..."
"Of course you can! After a whole day putting up with me, you can deal with these guys! I just know it, and then you'll get yourself a real detective to work with."
He's not fishing for support, for reassurance. Fulbright had told Simon earlier that he appreciated Simon keeping him and the investigation honest, and he can only believe this is an extension of that. He is so very resolute, and Simon wants to shove him into the wuk once more, shake this demeaning self-talk violently out of him.
But Simon can not do that, nor can he even tell Fulbright to cease his foolish natterings, because Fulbright backs away from him and offers up a salute meant, indubitably, as a wave goodbye. There is no smile accompanying it as he says, "Let justice be your guide, Sir, and you'll do fine."
And then he is gone, and the sorting room is neither cold nor empty, but for some reason Simon feels a little of both.
"Great, now that that's settled... Know it's getting late, Blackquill, but we still need to go over what exactly I'll testify about tomorrow."
Simon recalls the slip earlier, that leads him to believe Agent Parcells is the only one who can testify, at least credibly.
"What if I'd like Agent Cage to testify instead?"
"Aw, hear that, Bart, he wants me to testify." Cage's smirk, if it's possible, grows even more smug. "You takin' a liking to me, Blackquill? Because, hey, if that's what you want, then—"
"N-No, I... hell, I don't give a fig about which of you testifies." One is insufferably conceited, and the other could snap Simon in half like a twig, and knows it, and knows Simon knows it. Of course he doesn't have a preference as to which he has to deal with on the stand, as he can't envision either of them being remotely cooperative; they only expect as much from him. "Anyway, I don't see any need for such a discussion. If this case is so 'in the bag', so to speak, we shan't need anything but a short meeting tomorrow morning, before the trial. Whichever of you is testifying."
"That works," Parcells says. "Want us to fax you the test results? From the knife."
"If you so desire. I care not what you do." He doesn't, if it means he can escape...
"Lose the attitude, Blackquill."
"I'm... I'm not—!" Simon protests; he really isn't meaning to be defiant with them. He is frustrated, tired, and more than a little overwhelmed.
He's right where these agents want him, vulnerable and mismatched. No Fulbright to intercede.
"Just remember, all this aside, there's still people involved at the heart of this case. You can be as pissy as you want about the fact that your little scheme failed, but you have until tomorrow morning to get over it, and not bring it to court with you."
"I would not stoop to such pedantic behavior," he mutters, skimming over the autopsy report once more as a way to avoid their hard glares. All he wants is to leave, to get away from them and go over what he does know, what he can salvage from the investigation and still present as evidence tomorrow, now that nearly all the day's findings have been rendered inadmissible.
When neither agent accepts his answer, Simon glances up from the report. They haven't rejected his claim, but they don't appear terribly convinced, either.
After a few seconds, Agent Cage speaks up. "Alright. Just one last thing, Blackquill."
Simon does not want to hear it, but knows it will be shared regardless of his wishes. "It had better be the last thing."
How much more he misses Fulbright's cheerful smile, with the callous one Cage insists on flashing at him nonstop. "Contrary to what you think, we're not trying to make this hell for you and the PD. Really. So I was thinkin', how about we make a deal? You get us the guilty verdict tomorrow, and we'll try and let this whole thing with your pal Fulbright there blow over."
Simon is listening, and his expression must show it, because Cage continues.
"We could just say that he tried to strongarm his way in, and that you were too much of a sissy to keep him away. This kinda shit happens a lot—detectives bullying their way around, all that. And I'm sure with you, they'd buy it."
Simon can't objectively believe the slur is intended in the cruel, hateful sense he's previously experienced. It's casually thrown out, conversationally, much like how Aura's vocabulary was peppered with insults—hardly affectionate, but hardly malicious either.
But that's not how he hears it, and it jars him, cuts into him, causes him to shrink away. Makes his fingers curl so tightly around his folio that the report crinkles against it, his knuckles turning white.
A vicious command forces its way out. "Do not try to manipulate me into doing your bidding, Agent. You will fail. Miserably."
Turning on his heel, he exits the sorting room. He hopes it will be taken more as making a point than as saving face, that he doesn't wait for a response from this infuriating duo. Hearing one would be unbearable, would only cause him to dwell on the possibility that his threat was born entirely out of the crippling fear he constantly carries, that is spilling loose via a knot in his stomach, a tightness in his throat and prickling in his eyes.
And how horribly unsettling it is that, while so much of this is on Fulbright's shoulders—it was his gaffe, his oversight—Simon feels he's the one who has let everybody down.