"Mondays."
Pierce mumbled gruffly under his breath, as he rubbed his blood-shot eyes while pouring himself a cup of coffee.
A straight pot of black. None of that Keurig bullshit.
No cream. No sugar.
Just bitterness.
Pierce tested the blistering burn of his coffee at his lips.
The slogan on his mug reading, 'I can't fix stupid, but I can cuff it.'
"You alright in here, Sarg?" Malich poked his head into the break room. "Thought I heard you crying."
Pierce let out a deep...long sigh.
Mondays were for clowns too, he guessed.
"So, you're still here, huh?"
"You know, if this case is getting to be too much for you, old timer, you can always go back to bed," Malich ripped on him. "Wouldn't want you breaking a hip around here."
"If you're questioning the qualifications of my pelvis, ask your mother for a reference," Pierce remarked.
"Ah, yes, the good ol' fashioned 'yo mama' joke. Classic."
"You get any leads on Popeye the Sailor man yet?" Pierce asked him.
"No, sir."
"Then what are you standing around here for? What do I gotta do to get that job?"
"Well, who pissed in your cheerios?" Malich muttered.
"I just went through 3 cigarettes and 2 pastrami sandwiches watching a girl in a maid outfit obsessively scrub counters," Pierce spilled his story. "Then I got to the body cam footage."
"My condolences."
Rubbing his hand across his face to make sure he could still feel one, Pierce muttered aloud the only conclusion he and Malich could agree on so far, "The shots that hit her came from police fire. No way around it."
"Which means your 'missing person' defense just fell flat on its ass," Malich remarked. "Get it? Fell flat on its...ah, never mind."
"What is this, amateur night?"
"Laughter is medicine for the soul, Sarg."
"Well, you mind laughing your way down to the county then and tell them to send me a real detective back? Because I got some hard questions that need answering as of last night," Pierce said. "Let them try to build a case for excessive force against me. I dare them. Because the way I see it, that girl should've known better."
"Well, I don't know, Sarg. I guess I might just have to take that suggestion of yours to the county. Because lately it sounds like we're working two different cases here," Malich said. "I'm trying to find out how and by whom this girl ended up dead and bring said party to justice. You, on the other hand, are more concerned about covering said foul play up to save your ass."
"If you got a problem with my way of doing things, detective, then by all means."
"Just saying I won't back down either way," Malich warned him. "What's that thing Nietzsche said? If it's excessive force, it's excessive force."
"Nietzsche said that, huh?"
"Or maybe it was Ghandi. Who knows?" Malich shrugged. "I'm just here to find out the truth, not bury it in politics. Kora's family deserves closure."
"Then come up with a better story," Pierce challenged him. "Because until you get me some evidence that proves me wrong, then the only story we're running is that this girl was another possible suspect, evading arrest in a police chase after Bonnie-and-Clyding her way out of a shopping center with a gun."
"Felon or not, your job was to detain her, not kill her. And if you somehow find a justification for the latter, it doesn't mean it's right, just that...What's that other thing Nietzsche said? Everything is interpretation, so whichever interpretation prevails is a function of power, not of truth."
"Well then, Nietzsche can kiss my ass, because my philosophy is simple. You pull a gun out on a police officer, you're gonna get shot. See? Plain and simple."
"Mine's pretty simple too," Malich said. "The higher they climb, the harder they fall."
"Is that so?" Pierce accepted the challenge. "Then I guess whoever finds out first whether this girl was dead or alive when she jumped, decides which of us takes the fall."
"Dead or alive, it's not enough to save you."
"A minor technicality," Pierce gave him that. "But all the difference if you're planning on building a case against this department. Was she killed instantly by excessive police force, or did she survive the initial gunshot but die right after Captain-fucking-Nemo threw her over the goddamn cliff? Because until I see an autopsy, the cause of death is inconclusive. I don't care how you or the media spin it. Show me a body with my bullets in it, and I'll hand in my badge."
"Before you do that, you're gonna want to stick around for this one," Malich said, leading Pierce out the breakroom. "Because I'd be lying if I said this case wasn't about to get any better than it is."
"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" Pierce asked, following him down the hallway.
"You wanna beat me at solving this case?" Malich stopped at the door of Interrogation Room B. "Here's me giving you a head start. Walked him in about an hour ago."
Pierce looked into the small square window of the interrogation room, at the back of a man's curly sandy blonde hair. His shoulders squared in impeccable posture as he sat alone at the interrogation table. His back toward the door.
"Who the hell is that?" Pierce asked Malich.
"Amberflaw," Malich said. "Gavin Amberflaw. At least, that's who he allegedly says he is."
"Allegedly?" Pierce repeated. "Well, is he or isn't he?"
"He could be," Malich shrugged. "Or he couldn't be."
"Sounds like you can't get your story straight, detective."
"Depends on how much faith you put in your fellow man."
"Absolutely none."
"Then this case is gonna start feeling like peeling onions," Malich warned. "The more layers you hack away, the more the bullshit keeps coming."
"Jesus, what's it gonna take to get a straight answer out of you?" Pierce remarked. "If this guy really is a nutcase, then get someone from psych in here to evaluate him. I don't have time for this."
"He was the last person to see Kora Amberflaw alive," Malich persuaded him. "And nothing beats your people skills, Sarg."
"So, first, you steal my case. Then you want me to hold your hand through it the whole way too?" Pierce uttered. "Sorry to knock the teat out of your mouth, but I'm busy putting other fires out."
"I just thought you might want to take the first crack at him. You know, show me how things are done here?"
"You get a statement from this guy yet?"
"Would've done it if I could get an ID on him to know who I'm talking to. Like I said, he says his name is Gavin Amberflaw, but he's got no Driver's License on him, no birth certificate, no credit cards. Nothing to prove that he is who he says he is."
"Did you run his prints?"
"That's the problem," Malich said. "Nothing came up. He's not in any of our databases. It's like this guy just dropped out of the sky."
"Is he foreign born by any chance?"
"Couldn't give me a clear answer on where exactly it is. He's not much of a talker."
"Well, I guess we'll see," Pierce beeped himself in with his badge, leading the way into the interrogation room.
Gavin Amberflaw didn't look up to acknowledge Pierce as the police sergeant circled around the table like a hawk stalking its prey. Amberflaw kept his eyes on the wall behind Pierce. A woodsy hazel that appeared daydreamy and sad in distant contemplation. His curly hair divided by a strong center-part, with a slight lift of volume on one side. His shoulders crisp in a dark brown blazer, and black dress shirt, with a time-worn walnut brown flat cap lying in line with his folded hands on the table.
"You Gavin Amberflaw?" Pierce questioned him.
The police sergeant sat down across the table in front of the middled-aged man.
"That is your name, right?"
The man stared back at him, appearing reservedly offended by the sergeant, but said nothing.
His eyes mirroring those of the girl Pierce had been studying on the CCTV footage in the Titanic shop.
And after a tense, unbroken silence, in which Pierce and Amberflaw stubbornly stared each other down, Malich finally cleared his throat. Breaking the stalemate.
"Mr. Gavin Amberflaw," he clued Pierce in. "He prefers mister."
"Mr. Amberflaw, huh?" Pierce corrected himself sardonically.
"Yes, sir," Amberflaw responded.
"Can you just confirm for me your address, your date of birth, and anything else I might be able to use to confirm who you are?"
Amberflaw didn't reply, stone-faced and rigid, as if he were looking right through Pierce.
Leaving the sergeant with an unexpectedly sharp chill.
One of the few he could count on one hand in his entire career.
Was he looking at a ghost or an actual human being here?
"Mr. Amberflaw, do you understand the question?"
"Quite, sir," Amberflaw said. "Though I'm not sure how to answer it."
"Where were you born?" Pierce restated firmly.
"Galway, in the province of Connacht, I suppose. Father was a mariner, like myself, and my mother was a governess. Both of them English."
"You got a green card on you to back up that story, Mr. Amberflaw?" Pierce asked.
"This is about Kora, not myself, isn't it?" Amberflaw took charge of the interrogation. "Have you found her yet?"
Pierce looked at Malich for help, and Malich stared back blankly at Pierce.
They hadn't worked out yet who would be the one to tell him.
A look that didn't go unnoted by Mr. Amberflaw.
"My God," he murmured. "Do you mean to say that you also require payment for the return of her body?"
Malich looked at Pierce for help, and Pierce stared back dumfounded at Malich.
"Mr. Amberflaw, I can see you're still in shock right now, and nobody holds that against you. What happened to your daughter is tragic, and we just want to bring you some closure and find Kora some justice. But you won't be charged to have her body back...if that turns out to be the case," Malich tried a softer approach. "The sooner you answer our questions, the sooner we can bring your daughter home."
Then Mr. Amberflaw's stoic lips slowly lifted into a soft melancholy smile.
"Aye, yes," he said quietly. "That would be something, wouldn't it? I've all but lost hope for my Koralie ever coming home."
"When was the last time you spoke to your daughter?" Pierce asked him.
"I should imagine it was the 27th of March," Amberflaw answered. "In Belfast, it was."
"Can you be a little more specific?" Pierce suggested. "Because now you're confusing me, and that's not helping you walk out of here again. You mind sticking to one story, please? First you told us your daughter died on April 15, which is today, and now you're saying the last time you saw her was March 27th. Which is it then?"
"What the good Sarg here means is, we just want to make sure we have all the facts right," Malich tried to keep the peace. " You gave police a statement that your daughter has been dead for a long time now. How long would you say?"
"Ah, yes...something to the effect of," Mr. Amberflaw recalled. "110 years, or so, I'd say."
"I'm sorry, what?" Pierce called him out.
"Maybe you meant 10 years?" Malich tried to help the aging man out. "As in, she died in 2012?"
"No, sir. It was 1912. And I'll never forget it," Amberflaw looked him dead in the eyes. "That's what you asked, isn't it? When my daughter passed on? It was April 15th, 1912."
"Uh, huh." Pierce verbalized. "Well then, that would make you a cra-."
"You don't seem surprised by this, Mr. Amberflaw," Malich cut Pierce off. "But I guess you can imagine why it'd be pretty surprising to us, it being 2022 now."
"Forgive me if I've given you that impression. But make no mistake about it," Amberflaw said. "The death of a child is such a devastating blow, that one cannot truly ever recover from it. Yet to learn that it was preventable all along...now that might drive a man mad, wouldn't you say?"
"You tell us."
"I'm afraid that's all I can say on the subject. My story should have ended after I lost Kora, but it didn't. I can't very well explain why," Amberflaw told him. "Do you believe in curses, gentlemen?"
"No, sir, we believe in science here," Pierce said certainly.
"As do I, sir," Amberflaw agreed. "It's like a disease, if you will. I've lost her so many times now, I've just gone on and accepted the first one was final."
"'Lost her' as in you mean she's crazy?" Pierce guessed. "She's not all there? Funny, because that's the exact same thing they said about yo-"
"Stick to the question, Sarg," Malich reminded him.
"Is your daughter mentally unstable in any way?" Pierce rephrased his inquiry. "Was she on any medications or taking any drugs, that you know of?"
Amberflaw sighed. "You're not listening to me. It's a bit like a loop."
"A loop," Pierce remarked, taking note. "That's certainly a way to describe all this."
"Well then, Mr. Amberflaw, we have a problem," Malich told him. "Because what you say doesn't exactly match up with the fact that we got your daughter on camera, alive and well, working in a gift shop as of yesterday."
Amberflaw kept his silence, his eyes shifting down at his hat in deep thought.
"He's all yours detective," Pierce muttered to Malich, patting his involuntary partner on the shoulder. "You can hold him for the ID, if you want to. Otherwise, you're wasting your time. This guy's a nutcase. And I got too much other shit to worry about right now."
Malich remained in his seat, awkwardly listening to Pierce march toward the door and slam it shut behind him.
Then he sighed, turning his eyes back to Amberflaw.
"My dad had it too, you know," Malich said to him empathetically, as he took a shot at his own theory about Mr. Amberflaw. "Alzheimer's. Helluva disease."
"I'm sorry for your loss," Mr. Amberflaw replied quietly.
"Yeah. Yours too."
And reaching for his folder to remove the facial composite sketch of the prime suspect, he slid it over the table to Amberflaw.
"Any information you can give me about Kora will help me find this man," he told Amberflaw. "He was the last person seen with your daughter before she jumped...Before she went missing, I mean."
Amberflaw took a moment to study the sketch, noting the ship officer's White Star cap and the neat necktie.
His knuckles tensing into a tight fist against the tabletop.
"Do you know this man?" Malich asked him.
Amberflaw passed the sketch back to the detective.
"There won't be a body," Amberflaw responded. "Not in the manner by which she died."
Malich's brow bent questionably at him.
"You seem to know a lot of answers we don't know about."
"I only wish I did, sir," Amberflaw said. "Because in the end, all we ever wanted was an absolution."
Malich ran his hands through his hair.
Hopelessly.
Maybe Pierce was right.
They were going in circles.
"Ok, I need you to think back as far as you can," Malich tried again. "When did you last speak to Kora? I won't interrupt you. I won't correct you. I'll write it down word for word, just the way you say it. I just need to get your statement down so we both can get on with our lives. Sound fair?"