Author's note: I do not own Pokemon or any related trademarks.
Language warning:
Esteban Soriano sat unamused in the interrogation room as Stuart and Hopfmar walked in. Stuart tossed Soriano's folder on the table and sat down. "I assume you've been notified of your rights?" he asked.
"Man, I don't know why I'm in here," replied the felon.
"Start with evading arrest."
"You pendejos was chasin' me, what was I supposed to do?"
"You've done a great job hiding from us, Esteban. Can't say I blame you, looking at your record."
"That record's bullshit, you got nothin'."
"Oh, but we have plenty: trafficking, armed robbery, assault. Maybe we could add kidnapping and murder to the list as well."
Esteban started to rise out of his chair. "The fuck-"
"Sit down!"
Esteban promptly did so, but then he tried to complete his sentence. "The fuck you talkin' about, man?! I never killed or kidnapped nobody!"
"Really? Not even Angela Wikstrom's baby?"
"Who?"
Stuart pulled Angela's photo out of a different folder and tossed it on the table. "Her. The one who you harassed at her home non-stop in '85."
Esteban shoved the photo back. "Don't know what you're talkin' about."
Stuart snorted derisively and pushed it back. "Come on, Esteban, she remembers you tormenting her and her husband all the time. What's the matter, have a personal beef with them, decided to take it out on their kid?"
"You full of shit."
"No, YOU are. Bunch of the neighbors remember you hanging around and constantly going at it with her husband."
Esteban snorted himself and shook his head. "Not like that, esse. You don't know shit."
"Oh, please-"
"Bitch owed me money."
Stuart raised an eyebrow. "Excuse me?"
"You got shit for records, esse. There's one thing they never got me for: I used to be a pimp."
"Don't try to bullshit me and tell me that Angela was one of your women. I'm not stupid."
"Betcha the boys in the back call you Fuckface, you so stupid. There was a wholesale bust back in '84. Some of my girls got picked up. I got away. I didn't help any of 'em out, either. No use riskin' my neck for them hos."
"And you're saying Angela Wikstrom was one of them?" asked Hopfmar, who walked from the door to the table as he spoke.
"She was one of those got busted. Problem was, she was one of my best. And she kept tryin' to keep more than her share of the profits. That's why I went after her. But she never had no kid when that was happenin'."
Stuart let loose a harsh chuckle. "You think we're stupid, don't you? You took their kid, killed a cop-"
"WHOA, WHOA, WHOA!" yelled Esteban, coming out of his chair again. "They never had no fuckin' kid, and I didn't kill no fuckin' cops! Look, you don't believe me, you got her records, right? You got mine, so you should got hers, right?"
"Shit," sighed Frank as he finished looking over Angela's file. Stuart was leaning on the wall of the hospital room, head bowed against it in embarrassment. "Hate to say it, but he's right. And that just threw a wrench into the entire investigation."
"I'm afraid to ask," groaned Commissioner Steele.
"Well, for one thing, it adds several more suspects to the list: clients, some of the other girls, maybe even her own late husband."
"What do you mean?" asked Hopfmar.
"What if Jeremy wasn't, in fact, Dave's son?"
"I find it hard to believe that he'd kill a child, though," Victoria interjected. "At least from what you described of him."
"If the paternity was in question, even in those days when DNA testing was a novel or unheard of concept in this region, it could have pushed him over."
"And maybe she would have also wanted to hide the truth," Stuart added.
Frank sighed again. "There's only one way to be sure. And it may clear up something else."
"What's that?" Steele queried.
"I want Angela Wikstrom to take a DNA test. And if there is ANYTHING that we can use from the Baby Doe case for another DNA sample-"
"You don't think-"
"I do think, and I have thought for a while. Jeremy Wikstrom and Baby Doe are one and the same. I just need to prove it. Stuart, can you give me a hand in dialing her number?"
Angela walked into the room and was immediately stunned to see Frank in the hospital bed and in bad shape. "Oh my god, are you all right, Detective?"
"Meh, just an occupational hazard thing. Stuart, would you close the door, please?"
"So, what did you call me in here for?" she asked as Stuart complied with Frank's orders.
"There have been some developments, and I feel you need to be kept up on them. Which is why I need to ask you a few questions."
"Certainly, Detective, I understand."
"Good." He noticed the commissioner giving him a raised eyebrow and waved it off. "How do you know Esteban Soriano?"
"I told you already, he's the man who was giving my husband and I grief around the time Jeffrey disappeared."
"I know that, but there's some things you haven't been telling us, Mrs. Wikstrom. So I'll ask again: how do you know Esteban Soriano?"
Angela started looking around uncomfortably at the other officials around her. "What are you talking about?"
Frank held up a folder containing her records. "He claims to know you on a business level."
"What the hell are you talking about, Detective?"
"Since there's no gentle way of putting it, he says he was your pimp at one time."
She spun towards Hopfmar. "Is this serious?!"
"I'm afraid so, ma'am," he replied.
"Says you owed him money, too," Frank continued.
"That's bullshit, I never knew the man before he-"
"That's not what your police record shows."
"Give me a break-"
"Six months time for prostitution. He sold you out, Angela, and he said so himself."
"You're going to believe the word of a THUG over me?!"
"I'm going to believe the record, ma'am. I don't want to, trust me, I don't, but it's my job. You're not being open with us and it's hurting the case."
Furious, she spun towards Commissioner Steele. "Well? Can't you make him stop?!"
The stern blonde sighed. "I don't like it either, but he's doing his job, Mrs. Wikstrom, and he's well within his bounds."
"This is ridiculous! Why would that freak want my baby anyway?"
"Maybe it wasn't just him," came the reply from the bed.
"What?!"
"I rather wish this revelation never came up, because that adds more possible suspects. Maybe Dave thought you were carrying on a relationship with a former customer behind his back."
"Oh my god-"
"Maybe he thought that Jeffery wasn't his biological son."
"Go to hell!"
"Maybe, to get back at you, he even killed your own son."
"GO TO HELL!"
"There's a reason I asked a question about what he was wearing when you last saw him. One of the cases my father was working on involved a dead baby that unfortunately matches the description you gave in the missing persons report."
"MY SON IS NOT DEAD!" she screamed, almost frothing with rage. Victoria braced herself, ready to use a Hypnosis attack if necessary.
"I know that's how you feel, and I don't blame you for it. But what if I'm right?"
"No. You're WRONG! You're WRONG!"
"Then prove me wrong."
"Excuse me?!"
"The only way we'll know for certain is if you agree to take a DNA test."
She let out a harsh, scoffing laugh. "Hell no! I don't need a fucking test to know that my son is still alive!"
"How can you be so sure? And don't say 'mother's intuition,' that only goes so far."
"I just KNOW, OK?!"
Frank sighed. This was not what he physically needed, not now. "Look, if you agree to take the test and it comes back that it's not a match for the dead baby, we will do everything we can to try and find him. I'll sacrifice my whole goddamned career if I have to. If it comes back a match, then we'll do everything we can to make sure that the killer is brought to justice. But you have to agree to take the test. It's the only way we'll know for certain." He took a deep breath, the effects of the painkillers not exactly enough to take out the pain. "Please."
Angela stood there, staring at the wall, shaking her head, continuing to make scoffing noises. Finally, she let out a sigh of her own. "Fine, I'll do it. If only to prove to you that my son is not dead."
"Very well." He turned to Stuart. "Do we have a test kit on hand?"
"Not at the moment, but I can get one."
"Good, make it fast."
"How long will this take?" Steele asked.
"If I may, the main Pokebureau office in Goldenrod can get a test completed in as little as twenty-four hours, maybe quicker," Tristan offered.
"All right, so who's taking it to them?"
"Maybe you should go, Commissioner," Frank suggested.
"By myself?"
"I volunteer to go with," Tristan interjected.
"Good," Frank replied.
Steele opened her mouth to speak, but found herself unable to find the words. Victoria, meanwhile, looked at her colleague and love interest suspiciously.