Rookie of the Year
Chapter 2
The next morning, Alex Eames entered the Major Case squad room, smiling at the large coffee already sitting on her desk.
"I thought I'd never wake up this morning after being here until 2am," she said to her partner, taking a sip.
"Was it worth it?" he asked, setting his pen down.
"To lock up Giambi? Hell. Yes."
Goren chuckled and picked up his pen, turning his attention back to the DD5 in front of him.
"Officer Emily Handsen was admitted to Metropolitan early this morning," Ross announced, appearing unexpectedly at the detectives' desks.
Goren and Eames looked up at him, startled.
"Isn't that your little hero rookie from yesterday?"
"What happened to her?" Eames asked.
"Apparently someone dumped some Rohypnol into her beer at a bar last night," Ross answered, dropping a thin file onto Goren's desk. "That's a copy of the 61. She was released from Metropolitan about an hour ago. Knock yourselves out."
Eames' eyebrows almost hit her hairline as Ross walked away. "Gee, do you think he's not a morning person?"
Goren opened the file and read the complaint. "Aces & Eights, Upper East Side," he said.
Eames racked her brain, digging back through to her vice days. "First and. . . 87th? Just your standard college bar, complete with beer pong and pool tables, if I'm remembering right."
"It—It's Nicole."
"Bobby—"
"She's probably pissed that she got caught by a rookie," Goren explained. "Sh—She was insulted, she feels a need to prove herself again. This cop arrests Nicole, and then later that same night she's drugged, Nicole's choice method, don't you think that's a little too much of a coincidence?"
Eames nodded, to appease him more than agree with him. "Okay. Let's go talk to the bar staff before we jump to conclusions."
Aces & Eights
1683 1st Ave, New York, New York
April 3, 2007
Goren, ever the gentleman, held the front door of the bar open for Eames to enter.
"We're not serving yet," a man called. He looked up from the bar he was cleaning and took notice of the two people before him wearing gold shields. "Oh. You're here about what happened to Emmie."
The detectives nodded and bartender went back to cleaning. "Can you tell us anything about it?" Eames asked him.
He shrugged. "Not really." He sounded regretful. "It was so crowded, I guess no one really knew what was going on," he admitted. He stopped wiping the bar top down and looked at the detectives. "Believe me, something like this happens in my bar, that's bad enough, but especially Emmie. . ."
"You know her personally?" Eames asked. Goren had floated away to inspect the wall décor.
"Emmie? Nah. But a bunch of young cops that get out of work at 11. . . She comes by with her squad once or twice a week, and when they come on Monday or Tuesday they're usually the only ones in here, so it's easy to get to know them."
"But last night was different?"
"A bunch of college kids took over last night," the bartender said. "So instead of the eight of them, there was another 40 or so people. They were here for a 21st birthday, I was filling drink orders left and right. The last I saw Emmie was when she bought a round for the squad. I saw her go downstairs, probably to the bathroom. Ten minutes later a bus pulls up with three RMP's. Half the college kids ran."
"You have security cameras in here?"
"Of course. I'll get you the tape."
The bartender slung the towel over his shoulder and headed for the back. Eames moved over to her partner, who was flipping through the pages of the jukebox.
"Bartender went to get the security tape from last night. We might have a shot of our mystery man, and if we're lucky maybe the plate of the car.
Goren nodded.
Apartment of Emily Handsen
255 E 93rd St
Brooklyn, New York
"I'm fine, would you quit babying me? Go to work!"
The words were muffled, but clear as day to the two detectives who stood outside the door of the first floor apartment.
There was some more conversation, but unclear as the two had presumably moved away from the door.
The detectives exchanged looks, and Eames raised her hand to the door. Just as she was about to knock, the door flew open and a young woman jumped back, startled.
"Jeez, you guys just scared the crap out of me," Emily Handsen said, catching her breath. She looked a lot smaller without her work gear. She could have passed for fifteen years old, if she tried.
"Sorry," Eames said. "Can we come in?" She looked from Handsen, to Delgado, who stood a few feet away from the door.
Handsen forced a smile. "Sure. Rick was just leaving."
"Rick. . . Enrique Delgado?" Goren asked.
"Yeah, that's me," Delgado answered.
"Oh, we actually want to talk to you, too."
Handsen's smile faded and her brow furrowed. "Okay," she said slowly. She stepped back from the door to allow the detectives to enter and locked it behind them. She motioned toward the dining table. "Have a seat. You want anything to drink? Coffee, water. . .?"
Both detectives shook their heads and remained standing.
"We actually came by to talk to you about what happened last night," Eames said.
Handsen froze. "Oh really." Her voice had become considerably colder. "Why is that? Look at the 61, it's all there." She crossed her arms and leaned back against the kitchen counter. "And why is Major Case investigating an assault, anyway? People's beers get drugged all the time."
"We actually don't think that this was random," Eames jumped in, cutting Handsen's rant short.
"So you think, what, exactly? I'm helping you catch a murderer and a serial rapist all in the same night?"
"Emmie—"
"Don't 'Emmie' me, Rick," she said fiercely. "Didn't I tell you to go to work?"
"The Sarge told me to take the day," he answered. "I'm not leaving you alone."
"That actually. . . might be a good idea," Goren interjected. That got both rookies' attention. "We have reason to believe that you were targeted."
"Targeted?" Handsen repeated, louder than she'd meant to.
Goren dropped his binder on the dining table and opened it up to a photo. "Nicole Wallace," he continued. He held the photo out to Handsen. "Had you ever seen her before yesterday?"
Handsen sighed and took the photo, examining it closely before shrugging and handing it back. "No. I haven't."
"Did any of her aliases sound familiar to you?"
She was becoming frustrated again. "No, and I don't see—"
"Nicole Wallace," Goren interrupted firmly, "has committed at least 19 murders; those are the ones that we know of. She likes to make things personal."
"So I get a mickey in my drink the night I arrest her, you just automatically assume it was her?" Handsen asked. "She's out on bail, it's not like she really got locked up, I drove her to court. And it was her own fault; she jaywalked right in front of us, right, Rick?"
Delgado nodded. "Yeah, we were standing right there. I mean, sure, jaywalking is a bullshit summons, but to do it right in front of us? Come on, what did she expect?"
Goren's interest was perked. He looked from one rookie to the other. "She did it right in front of you. . . Did she. . . Did she see you?"
"She had to have," Handsen said. "We were right on the corner, 1-2-5 and 8th, she walked right to us. She was digging through her bag, but she was glancing up every few seconds. We're two rookies with shiny new badges, you can't really miss us."
Goren nodded, closing up his binder. "What can you tell us about last night?"
"Me?" Handsen asked, adding on half a chuckle. "Nothing."
"The squad went to out to the bar to celebrate Emmie's little. . . victory," Delgado jumped in. "She was buying rounds, then she got up and I saw her go downstairs, that's where the bathrooms are."
"That's pretty much the last thing I remember," Handsen added.
"I kept looking for her to come back," Delgado continued. "The place was packed and she didn't look right when she came back up."
"Didn't look right. . . how?" Eames asked.
"Like she was trashed, but she couldn't have been, she'd only had three beers. I was talking with the guys and I looked over at the stairs again, and saw Emmie leaning against the wall talking to some guy. He put his arm around her and led her toward the back door. That's when I went after them, but there were so many people it took me a while to catch up to them. When I did, they were in the back alley. I called out to them, I think I startled the guy, he dropped Emmie. He looked like he was ready to throw down, but there was a car waiting and whoever was inside honked the horn. The guy just jumped in and they took off. I ran to Emmie and called for a bus."
"You framed your Academy certificate?" Goren asked from the living room.
Emmie was visibly thrown for a moment. "Uuuhm. . . Yes?" She looked at Eames, then back to the nosy detective in the next room, now poking at trinkets on a shelf. "Is that ok with you?"
Goren looked up from the shot glass which he now held in his hand. "Um, yeah, that's fine. I just—I have mine between the pages of my dictionary."
Back in the kitchen, Eames cleared her throat. "The man who left with Emmie," she said to Delgado. "Did he look familiar at all?"
Delgado shook his head. "It was dark, and I was a little buzzed."
"What are you doing to my TV?" Handsen said suddenly, making a beeline for the living room.
Goren stood up from his crouching position, holding a VHS tape. "Cameras at the bar caught the guy's face," he explained.
Handsen crossed her arms over her chest and stepped back. "Oh. Yeah, sure you can use my VCR, thanks for asking!"
Goren went back to tinkering, and when a grainy black and white picture popped onto the screen, Delgado moved closer and squinted at the image. A young man, about college-aged and dressed similarly to the rest of the college crowd, approached the bar and stood next to Handsen. Casually, while the rookies were silently preoccupied with congratulating each other, he set his beer down next to Handsen's. Several seconds went by, and he picked her bottle up, leaving his, and walked away.
Goren paused the video at the point where they could best view the man's face, but Delgado was already shaking his head.
"I've never seen him before," he said.
"I might have," Handsen said slowly. All eyes turned to her. "I'm not sure where," she added. "It might not even be him I'm thinking of. He just looks a little familiar."
Goren ejected the tape.
"Unfortunately there were no cameras outside, so we don't have a plate—"
"I have a partial," Delgado cut Eames off. He looked at the palm of his hand, where several pen marks were barely visible. "The first three were D-X-J, it was a dark Lincoln Towncar. No, I didn't see who was driving."
Goren scribbled all of this onto his notepad.
"We're going to circulate this guy's face," Eames continued. "Hopefully something will turn up."
Eames unlocked the doors to the SUV and climbed in, but Goren seemed frozen, lost in thought. Eames sighed and climbed back out.
"What is it?"
Goren looked up, startled out of his thoughts. "Uh. . . Handsen. When we showed her Nicole's photo. . . She took a long time studying it, almost as if she wanted to make a show of it. . ."
"Like she wanted to convince us she really hadn't seen her before," Eames finished.
"And then when I asked about her aliases. . ."
"She answered right away," Eames finished again.
"There's something she's not telling us," Goren concluded.