John Reese had no trouble finding Kat. She was, as if on cue, walking into her usual Starbucks at 3pm on the dot. Reese weighed his options, to engage her, or to let her stumble upon him, or to travel, invisible, and let her continue on with her daily schedule. It was a Friday. Despite the fact that it was now two months out of date, Reese consulted the photo of her weekly schedule that he had taken previously. His eye scanned over the photograph for hints as to where she might go. (3pm was listed with "coffee!" It was listed in this manner on the schedule at the same time every day. Sometimes with heart-dotted exclamation points for extra-enthusiastic effect.) In August, she had had two appointments with clients after this.
"Hey Finch. Can you look up Katherine's client database?"
"What do you need to know, Mr. Reese?"
"I need to know if a Ms. Steiner is still listed as an active client."
"She is. Is this related somehow?"
"Not exactly, Finch. I want to keep eyes on Katherine, but I'm not sure she'd benefit from knowing about our presence quite yet."
"Keep me posted, Mr. Reese."
The upside to Reese's first encounter with Kat was that he was now prepared to observe her undetected. He no longer placed himself in the sightlines of plate glass windows, but rather conveniently ended up taking a look at an apartment three doors down from Mrs. Steiner and her grey standard Poodle.
Kat, on the other hand, behaved as though some invisible weight had lifted from her shoulders. She still traveled with an ever-roving gaze, Reese noted, but her gait was less harried and more relaxed. He was able to watch her retrieve Mrs. Steiner's grey Standard Poodle (What kind of a name was 'Miffy'?), and disappear down the stairwell, only to appear moments later at the front door.
At the dog park, Reese observed her sprawled out on a bench, Miffy the poodle sniffing disinterestedly at a golden retriever before racing off across the field after a pigeon. He didn't see anything suspicious. Just as before, she seemed fine to outside eyes.
Finch, meanwhile, continued to dig through her history. Something didn't add up. An attempted hit might have made sense in the context of getting rid of the witness to a gang crime, but repeated attempts were something else entirely. Finch seriously doubted that a small-time South Chicago gang would have the funds or the long-range connections to carry out multiple interstate searches for one person, and even if they did, Kat had already testified in her case, and the perpetrators were in a federal prison. What, aside from revenge, would be a motivator for such retaliation?
He suspected that the crime she had witnessed might not have been as straightforward as it seemed, and that perhaps even she had been kept in the dark with regard to what she was testifying for. He reached for his phone, still typing with one hand.
"Carter." She answered on the first ring.
"Hello Detective." Finch began. "I need you to do a little digging for me."
"As long as it doesn't involve a body."
Finch smiled at this.
"No, Detective. I need you to look into a gang shooting in Chicago. January of last year. I need to know if there are any inconsistencies in the file, particularly if anything has been redacted."
"Why would anything be redacted from a gang shooting?"
"You tell me, Detective. I'll be in touch."
A few hours later, Finch found himself hovering over a plate of eggs benedict (they *were* his favorite, after all.) sharing a booth with Detective Carter. She pushed a manila folder across the table to him.
"This is all they could send me. It's a mess. There are inconsistencies everywhere. How anyone ever went to prison for this is anybody's guess, but I'll tell you one thing. Street gangs don't go through this much trouble to tie up their loose ends. You're looking at something bigger."
"That's what I feared, Detective. Thank you for your insight."
Reese was still keeping eyes on Kat, but Finch was putting the finishing touches on what could only be described as plan B. No sooner had he secured the last details, when plan B suddenly became plan A. The Machine, waiting for no man and no inconvenience, hurled another number into his lap.
"Mr. Reese, I would strongly suggest you stop whatever it is you are doing and leave Miss Corvis to me."
"You've finally changed your mind about that burlesque show, Finch?"
"Hardly. We've got another number, one which demands your attention in particular. I'll figure out what to do with Katherine."
Finch severed his link with Reese, then immediately picked up the phone and began to dial.
Katherine was in the closet-sized dressing room of a Brooklyn bar, preparing for her impending return from retirement. One of the other girls was lacing her midnight blue corset when she heard her phone ring. She sighed and let it go to voicemail. It was probably Mallory, after all, calling to chastise her and beg her to change her mind about her life choices yet again.
"Hey. You know what these things are for by now, so when you hear the beep, go for it." She really did have the single most inappropriate voicemail message. Finch waffled momentarily about leaving a message or simply calling back.
"Hello. Katherine? It's Harold… Hawke. I've been called away on business, and Bear will need a dog-sitter, and… oh forget it. Answer your phone, please."
The voicemail message went unanswered, as did the subsequent three attempts at a phone call.
"Oh, for heaven's sake…" Finch grumbled, rising from his chair. Bear's ears perked, and he watched, attentive, as Harold began clambering down the stairs.