All of his ranting about his job notwithstanding, Harvey felt naked without his piece and badge, so he went home to grab his spare gun.
Usually, on a day like this, he'd have walked down to the seedy little bar at the corner of the street, tuned out the juke-box and the banter of the pool players, and silently made his way to «black out drunk» territory. Sleep was a sparse commodity in their line of work - once you lost the self-righteousness, anyway - so he aimed for unconsciousness. His «usual» had started shifting a few months before, after he'd finally managed to drag Scottie to some fancy Italian place. He hadn't counted, but he was pretty sure he slept in her bed more often than in his own, by now.
Scottie was best described as perfection wrapped in fun, with the extra advantage of copper-red hair, which would have blindsided any man, and Harvey more than most.
It was pretty much impossible to feel miserable around her (unless she was actively being drowned by some psycho, and that didn't happen every day). You just slipped into automatic «don't fuck this up» mode, and found yourself grinning, and joking, and teasing, and more generally being less of an ass. A few week ins, you realized you hadn't acted this pleasant since 92, and felt this pleasant since… Possibly since that time you got a ticket to see the Stones on tour, back in 81.
So he called her.
«Hey, I was about to head out for pizza. Feel like joining me?»
They met at her place and - even after that shitstorm of a day - he felt himself grin. They fell into easy banter. She told him about her day - an afternoon running around with friends to plan a bachelorette party that had involved rating male stripper websites and their use of Comic Sans (whatever that was) - and about her plans for her next support group meeting (as she had not let Crane scare her off the whole prospect). She didn't talk much about her job as a career counselor, and that was for the best. Being suspended until further notice, Harvey was sorely in need of career advise, and did not want any.
«So how was your day?» she asked when he ran out of questions and jokes.
«Seen worse», he replied.
He had to tell her. It would be all over the news, like that police brutality case a few months back. Except, this time, he would not get out of it on account of being a cop. Brady had been real protective of his men and didn't like trouble, so drama would go away quietly and swiftly. Loeb, however, had an ax to grind with Jim and him, so they were going to be roasted alive.
«Good news is I'm available for movies and dates and everything you feel like doing, for the foreseeable future. Less good news is I'll be broke as hell all the while. Hope you don't mind.»
Scottie stared at him, stunned.
«What happened?»
«I arrested a guy a few weeks ago. Husband to a stabbing victim, the wife was looking into divorce, there were reports of domestic violence. So I brought him in, and he cracked and confessed to the murder.»
«Yes?»
Harvey closed his eyes, exhausted. Essen had chewed him out for hours, along with Jim.
«I told you, Harvey! I told you not to arrest the guy if you didn't have probable cause!»
«I did! We did! You saw the case files», he had snapped back. «Several interventions for domestic disturbances, the wife was lawyering up, and the man confessed, for fuck's sake!»
«Under duress! And trust me, when he sues the department, the DA is going to have a field day, between your history and the fact that neither of you bothered to do your jobs.»
What had stung, really stung, was how betrayed Sarah had sounded. Harvey was used to being a disappointment - he had never been that good at his job - but this should have been an easy case. He had not even tried to dig, when a ten minutes phone call could have prevented the entire mess.
«A vigilante nailed the actual perp», he explained, looking away. «Killed him, left the murder weapon - the stabbing case's, I mean - next to him, along with all the evidence. Then he sent reporters to the crime scene. Turns out our victim was having an affair and broke it off, her lover didn't take it well.»
Scottie gaped, and mouthed the beginning of a comforting sentence, but stopped herself. What could she have said? She was smart. She could put two and two together. If he had gotten the victim's phone records - as the vigilante had - he would have found frequent calls to a male coworker. If he had obtained her message history - as the vigilante had - he would have found pleading messages that slowly turned to threats. Harvey had trusted his gut, as usual, and it was never a good idea. For years, it had not mattered, or he had lucked out. Then he'd been paired up with Jim, and Jim was not one to neglect evidence, nor to overlook the simplest leads. Not usually.
«The husband was released, and his lawyer is encouraging him to sue. Now, we did nothing more than the regular good cop, bad cop routine, Jim and I, but the asshole is claiming he was beaten into confessing. It might just fly. I've been suspended for roughing up suspects before.»
She sighed.
«His lying might be what will get you out. He has no proof, does he?»
«The footage of the interrogation went 'missing'», Harvey said. «Which is not good news for us, it looks like we have something to hide.»
He was willing to bet the tape had vanished about five minutes after Loeb had learned about the new murder. It was too good an occasion to take Jim's badge away. The commissioner would bury them.
«So what's your situation, exactly?»
«Suspended with no pay until further notice. Jim too. Probably getting fired down the line. Me, it's no skin off my back», he lied. «Security guard fits me better anyway, I'm getting old, all that running around and chasing criminals is not helping my knees. Jim… He'll bounce back.»
That was an even bigger lie.
Jim had not argued with Sarah. He had apologized, flat out. «It was a grievous error in judgment on my part. I will take whatever punishment is coming my way», he had said. And, when Essen had let them go, the blond had left without a word, avoiding Harvey's eyes. It was his right. Everything he had worked for was coming crashing down. There would be no cleansing of the GCPD if Gordon could not stay on the force. And all had gone to shit just because Harvey was a lazy, careless bastard.
Scottie stared at the table's candle, lost in thought.
You knew things were bad when a professional counselor with a bachelor in psychology could not come up with a motivating comment.
«Is there anything I can do to help?» she asked after a while, having finished her analysis and arrived at the same «you're doomed» conclusion as the detective had.
«Well, if you're not eating that mascarpone…»
###
Gillian Loeb was, from Oswald point of view, a conniving and treacherous opportunist who had made his way to the top by dragging everyone else down. He greatly appreciated all of those traits, and would have applauded his accomplishments, had the man not constantly compromised his plans. They had a pleasant business relationship, mostly based on the excellent care Oswald provided to young Miriam, but Gillian was not supervised 24/7, and would at times inadvertently trample Oswald's careful work. His feud with Jim Gordon also had to stop.
Against his best judgment, Oswald still felt oddly protective of the blond firebrand. He was not done with him.
The crime lord was sitting in his expensive black leather sofa - a comfortable and elegant piece of furniture he had bought to replace Carmine's outdated and washed out decoration - and watched the commissioner bleat through his press conference on the wide flat screen TV freshly attached to the living room's wall.
«This gross miscarriage of justice will not go unpunished», Gillian was saying. «The two detectives involved in this case failed mister Parson. They failed the GCPD. They failed us all, by further victimizing an innocent man who had just suffered the worst of personal tragedies. Full light will be made on the circumstances that allowed their blatant disregard for justice to go unnoticed. They will be disciplined, as will be any superior who enabled this horrendous travesty. They…»
Oswald rolled his eyes and stabbed the apple he was peeling.
«What is father talking about?» Miriam asked from her own seat.
She had nearly free roam of the mansion. A bodyguard followed her around, more to protect people from her than the other way around, but she was not much of a bother. As long as you didn't argue with her and provided her with fresh canaries every day, she was quiet as a mouse.
Oswald cut his fruit into quarters and put them on a plate on the coffee table.
«A misunderstanding, Miriam. I'm afraid an evil man told some lies to your father, and he is now repeating them. I will make sure he is quickly informed of the situation, then everything will be fine.»
«My father won't have any problems at all, will he?» the young woman asked, panicking.
«Absolutely not, you have my words. Now, why don't you go play checkers with Gabe?»
She routinely won. Cobblepot was near certain that his man didn't let her.
«Why can't my father visit? You know it is our game!»
«As you can see, he is very busy nowadays», the mob boss said, pointing at the television. «Work, and work, and more work, as I already told you.»
«He used to make time for me!»
Her temper was flaring, which was not a good thing. Her guard took a step forwards. Oswald stared at her, pointedly.
«You know full well your father gives you all the free time he has. Would he appreciate a tantrum where you accuse him of not caring for you? Wouldn't he be hurt?»
The blonde hesitated and lowered her eyes. Murderous urges aside, she was an eight years old at mind, and a naive one at that. She was very easy to trick.
«I'm sorry. I will write him a letter telling him to take good care of himself and that I will be patient. Will you send it for me?»
«Without delay. And, since you've been so nice, ask Martin to retrieve the Zara catalog. I believe you deserve a fancy new dress and some jewelry. Don't you?»
Miriam's eyes lit up, and she ran to him to give him a crushing hug.
«You are so nice, Oswald!» she said.
He tensed, awkwardly detached himself, and adjusted his necktie with nervous hands.
«I'm glad you think so. Now, off you go. Your letter won't write itself.»
The woman-child ran off, happily skipping out of the room. Martin followed her. Oswald looked down at his apple. The quarters had started going brown, so he huffed and left them there, to be thrown away by the maid. He walked into his office and called a friend.
###
Two years. Sophie had lived on Gardenia Lane for two years. She had «moved in» and met Nate, a young widower with a son who sorely needed a mother, and they had «fallen in love».
Two years.
Had people outside tried to find her, and failed, or had no one cared about the woman at all? Sabrina did not know what to hope for. She would have preferred for Sophie to be a nobody, someone nobody had missed. It would have meant no one had searched for her in vain. It would have meant the Lane was maybe not buried too deep too be found, that someone could follow leads right to the place. Sabrina knew her family was looking for her. Matthew, her fiancé, would have noticed she was gone on the day of her abduction. If he had not - and why wouldn't he have? - her mother called every other day.
She had to believe she would be found, or she would go crazy.
Two years.
She had left Sophie's house just in time for her date with David, after a long and artificial chat over tea. The older woman had been the perfect housewife, serving cookies on elegant white porcelain plates painted with tiny roses. She'd poured tea from a matching teapot, that could have been stolen from a Disney movie. They had used actual silverware. Sophie never looked at the cameras, and was an expert at turning her head so said cameras could get the best angle.
Shawn seemed to know he had to play where he could be filmed. If he had to pass behind furniture or to move to another room, he hurried.
«I met Sophie», Sabrina had told David after the kiss and the embrace their jailer required. «Did you know she moved in two years ago?»
Her companion had nodded, carefully taking her hand and leading her towards the restaurant. He was extremely cautious about touching her, ever since their first time. Sabrina saw the guilt and the horror. She knew he felt bad. It did not make her feel better. They still had sex after every date, because they did not have a choice and the man was intent on keeping them alive whether she wanted him to or not. And she didn't blame him. She understood. She was grateful. But she was ill to the pit of her stomach and she could barely keep her sobs in in the bedroom.
«I did. She brought me a welcome basket when I moved in, gave me some tips about the place, and Mrs. Valentine, and so on.»
«Mrs. Valentine?»
«Our upstairs neighbor», he had said, looking up to the blue tinted floodlights that were supposed to replace the moon.
«Mrs. Valentine», Sabrina had repeated.
They were held by a woman. It made sense. Sabrina had nearly smacked herself for not having considered it. As if the stupid romantic scenario they were supposed to enact left any doubt.
David had all but dragged her to the restaurant, a nervous smile on his face.
«Let's go. I don't know about you, but I'm starving.»
Three hours later, they went back to her place and raped each other under threat of death again, then the young woman went to shower and cry. She cried with a smile, of course, and the necklace did not beep for long. When she returned to her bedroom, David was waiting for her. He had put his pants back on, as well as his shirt, though the shirt was crumpled and unbuttoned. He was sitting on the corner of the bed, clearly worried.
«Are you alright?» he asked, and a wave of terror ran through Sabrina.
He was not acting. It was going to get him killed. Her throat closed up, her eyes went wet, and she stood there frozen, unable to answer. He stood up, quietly, and turned the lights off. She blinked, letting the tears run on her face. He joined her, wrapping his arms around her, cradling her shaking shoulders and kissing her forehead. A high pitched sound escaped her, a keening noise that felt like it came from someone else, from a crying child. She had not made a sound like that in a decade. David held her closer, rocking back and forth, a hand stroking her hair. She wrapped her arms around him and held on for dear life, burying her face against his shoulder.
Her collar was not beeping anymore. Maybe the monsters slept.
She raised her head and pressed her lips to David's.
###