Chapter 2
Myka wasn't surprised to see HG sitting on the hood of the unmarked patrol car. She was casually sipping from a cardboard cup and tilting her head into the sunshine as if it was completely normal for her to be lounging on a Detective's vehicle at 830AM on a Tuesday. Myka stared at her for a second as she paused on the steps of the precinct, a smile of admiration pulling at her lips before she schooled her face.
"HG Wells," Myka greeted her, nodding respectfully but walking around the car anyway.
"Myka Bering," came the reply as HG's eyes fluttering open and she squinted in the sunlight. "It's nice seeing you here." Myka furrowed her brow.
"You're on my car." She gestured at the situation and HG chuckled, sliding towards Myka on the hood of the car.
"I thought I could help you today." HG explained as Myka paused in opening the driver's door. Myka looked up, raising her eyebrows in disbelief.
"Don't you have better things to do?" She asked.
"I don't."
"Why not?"
"Let's just say I cleared my schedule for this."
"Well you can't come." Myka crossed her arms defensively, squinting slightly in the bright sunshine as HG shifted so that her back was towards the sun.
"Why not?" The question was a method of calculating Myka, and Myka didn't like it. She narrowed her eyes at HG as she slid off the hood and walked around the edge of the car, so she was standing opposite Myka but still leaning against the car.
"Civilians can't just trail along on investigations whenever they feel like it!" HG's smile broadened.
"I'm not a civilian," she pointed out deftly. "I have advised with the department before." Myka narrowed her eyes at her opponent and tried to find a better excuse.
"I'm going to check your alibi," She supplied, grinning at her own success at an unbeatable explanation.
"No you're not," HG countered lazily.
"Yes, I am. I'm going to the place you had lunch yesterday." Myka glared at her but HG's smile didn't shift. "You can't be there. That might compromise the staff's statements." Myka nodded, satisfied with her own explanation.
"No you're not," HG repeated. Myka swallowed, perturbed by the woman's lazy confidence as she physically felt herself being caught out on her own lie. Suddenly she felt fourteen again, hands clammy, as she tried to come up with reasons for her lateness as Tracy watched her flail unhelpfully.
"I'm not?" She recross her arms and raised an eyebrow: a clear challenge. Despite her inner confidence crisis, her voice was even and her features schooled. HG was unaware she was evoking such strong panic in Myka.
"You did that last night." Myka gaped at Helena, who just grinned. "The waitress called me up after you left," she explained. Myka blinked, about to protest when Helena stopped her. "She didn't do it because I had told her to or anything, if you're going to accuse me of that. She simply wanted to ask whether or not she had slept with a fugitive." Myka opened and closed her mouth, trying to think of something to say. At a loss for words, she just stared.
"I don't understand," she supplied when it became clear that HG was enjoying this display.
"She asked me whether she had slept with someone who was a fugitive."
"and had she?" Myka asked, completely confused as to who they were talking about anymore.
"Well, I told her that since I am not a suspect in this case, I didn't feel that was a valid description of me." Her cheeky little smile could only have been more cliche if it had been accompanied by a wink.
"This case? Are you a suspect in other cases?" Helena's smile was very much a "wouldn't you like to know" evasion as she stepped closer to Myka.
"Are you working under Artie Nielson?" Surprised by the abrupt change of subject, Myka nodded.
"Yes? Well, not under him: he's my superior. Why do you ask?" Helena didn't reply immediately, her face impassive as she watched Myka.
"Artie Nielson doesn't like me," she supplied with a half smile.
"Yeah," Myka laughed awkwardly, looking down at the pavement and then back up at HG. "I noticed that. Why?"
"No reason," Helena murmured, her gaze still unwavering. Myka shifted before gesturing at her car, suddenly powerfully aware of her limbs as she shifted again. HG smiled and pushed herself off the car with her hip.
"Well, since I don't want to got you into any trouble," she sighed and gave Myka an absent pat on the arm as she walked past. Myka cocked her head.
"You're leaving?" She asked, incredulously. The other woman spun in her steps and walked backwards down the street, shielding her eyes against the morning sunlight.
"I'm sure I'll see you around!" she called. Myka watched her go, narrowing her eyes in suspicion before she decided she would investigate the journalist later: she had other work to do right now. She slipped in the car and drove off in the direction of where Pete was waiting to be picked up.
"You took your sweet ass time," Pete complained, tumbling into the car haphazardly, yet somehow keeping the cardboard tray with coffee and food oddly steady. Myka rolled her eyes and accepted her coffee with an ardour reserved only for the first coffee of the day.
"You could have walked the half a mile to the station," she reminded him. Pete laughed and bit into the sugar encrusted pastry as Myka took a sip of her coffee, smiled in appreciation and put the cup in the cupholder.
"Where would the fun be in that?" Pete asked through a full mouth as Myka slid back into the traffic. Myka chuckled dryly, worrying her lip unconsciously as she looked around for HG's car. It was ridiculous: completely ridiculous, Myka assured herself, but somehow HG's words, I'll see you around seemed laden with an implication that Myka did not like. Pete blinked at her and then shifted in his seat.
"Are you okay Myka?" He asked carefully. Myka glanced at him, brow furrowed.
"Yes I'm fine why would you say that?"
"You just seemed kind of," Pete searched for the word, "off?" he tried.
"Yeah no," Myka waved off the worry, "I'm fine!" Pete just gave Myka his look. Myka glanced at him again before turning her attention to the road and sighing. "Fine, okay. So I may have talked to HG this morning." Pete stopped chewing in surprise and lowered the pastry, sugar covering his lap as he raised his eyebrows at Myka.
"When?" He asked, glancing at the dashboard incredulously. "Its 8:54AM! Did she go to your bakery or something?" Myka shot her partner a quizzical look.
"Who goes to bakeries in the morning Pete?" She asked.
"Not the point," he chided.
"Well, no. She was sitting on my car when I got out of the precinct with Ms Tarr's address," Myka admitted reluctantly. Pete began eating again, chewing thoughtfully.
"How did she know which was your car?" He asked. "Or was she just sitting on a random one in the hopes that it was yours?"
"I don't know, Pete," Myka admitted. "I think she wants in on this case really badly and I don't understand why." Pete shrugged.
"Artie won't let her, whatever the reasoning, so I'm not worried." Myka bit her cheek, but decided to let the issue be.
"We're here anyway," she said out loud, gesturing at the street they were driving down. Large impressive houses overshadowed them as Pete glanced at the street suspiciously.
"What number did you say it was?" He asked, the impeccably white walls making him feel uncomfortable.
"32," Myka identified, gesturing towards the house in front of which she was parking. "Let's go." Pete frowned uncertainly.
"You know how much I hate this part," he muttered. Myka smiled sadly.
"Everyone hates breaking a mother's heart," she agreed.
"It's not just that," Pete sighed. "I just can't stand ruining this woman's life like this. Right now she's probably wondering what she should have for breakfast, and in 10 minutes she'll just …" He shrugged. Myka frowned at Pete and clapped him on the back in friendly concern.
"It's okay," she promised him. He smiled weakly.
"For us it is," he agreed.
The grief-stricken mother was unhelpful to their case as a whole, simply identifying the victim's place of work and affirming the narcotics addiction.
"My son was troubled after he left law school, but he pulled his life together," she had explained, a sob wracking her fragile frame. "He got clean and took the bar and passed and now he works at a law firm."
"Which one?" Myka asked, watching the mother stiffly as Pete sat next to her on the couch and handed her tissues.
"MacPhearson LLP: its right in the centre of town."
"MacPhearson?" Myka asked, biting her pencil thoughtfully as she scribbled down the name again. "They do property and patent law and stuff like that, right?"
"Yes: my son worked in their real estate department." She began crying quietly and Pete patted her on the back uncertainly, glancing up at Myka as Myka looked around the living room thoughtfully.
"Did he enjoy his work?" Myka asked, glancing at all the family photos in which the victim was noticeably absent.
"He loved it," the mother murmured after blowing her nose politely. "He became a managing associate in two years: the partners said he was on a road to success." Myka nodded and wished she could do more with that knowledge.
She stepped out of her hot car just after noon in front of the skyscraper of which 4 floors housed the famous MacPhearson LLP. Myka had sent Pete to go touch base with Steve and then follow the other lead with which the mother had provided them, namely the ex-girlfriend who had left Farell mere days before his promotion.
"Have you had lunch yet, Detective Bering?" Myka spun around at break-neck speed, only mildly surprised to find herself face to face with HG again.
"HG, what are you doing here?" Myka demanded, pressing a hand over her heart. HG smiled and held up a wrapped package that looked suspiciously like a sandwich.
"I brought you lunch," she said, by way of explanation. Myka shifted uncomfortably, crossing her arms to hide her confusion.
"What do you mean?" She asked, voice lowered. HG smiled.
"There's a little courtyard behind this building where the employees sit and have lunch. Eat with me: let me talk to you. You can run off and waste your time interviewing Max's collegue's after." Myka narrowed her eyes.
"Talk?" She asked.
"Completely off the record," HG quickly established. "This has nothing to do with journalism and everything to do with the fact that your victim happens to have been one of my closest friends." HG grinned at Myka. "Besides, I have food!" She began walking slowly grinning confidently. Myka checked her watch: it was lunch time and perhaps Helena did have important information?
"Fine, but I only have 15 minutes."
"I can work with that," HG assured her as they stepped into the courtyard which was flooded with the strong noon sunlight that seemed to beat on Myka's skin. Myka looked into the light and sat down on the bench next to HG.
"I bought you a falafel wrap," HG explained, putting the wrapped package in Myka's hand. "I assumed you were a vegetarian." Myka laughed and nodded, impressed.
"Not half bad," she admitted, unwrapping the wrap delicately. HG grinned.
"I tried," she admitted ruefully. HG watched Myka as Myka enjoyed the food before she began.
"I assume Max's mother was horrified by his passing," HG started. Myka narrowed her eyes. HG smiled sadly. "None of this is case-sensitive, Myka. I'm asking about it as a friend, not a cop."
"A friend to whom?" Myka asked. HG smirked.
"Right now? To Max." Myka smiled.
"Yes, she was shell shocked," Myka conceded. "Who wouldn't be?" HG smiled sadly again and leaned forward on the bench, her hair obscuring her face for a second. Myka watched her, curious. HG just looked up, pushing her hair back with a small smile.
"It's hard being a mother," she agreed. Myka furrowed her brow at the depth of sadness in the reply.
"Do you have any children, HG?" She asked, confused. The house had been spotless and no traces of any child in the area that Pete and Myka had seen. There had been no pictures of children on the shelves; no mementos of childhood. It would be incongruous for this professional journalist to tow around a child.
"Not right now," HG answered with a sad smile pulling at her lips. Myka watched her expectantly. "What?" HG asked, spreading her hands to demonstrate her innocence. "It's true!" Myka smiled and looked across the courtyard.
"Did Max really enjoy his work?" She asked after a lull in the conversation. HG pursed her lips.
"He liked it better after Lola left and it was the only thing of importance in his life. He loved her a lot, and her leaving him hit him hard. Probably because he understood it was completely deserved." Myka frowned.
"He worked too much?" She inquired. HG scoffed.
"He was a lawyer. He didn't work too much: he just never stopped working." Myka nodded thoughtfully, dabbing her napkin at her lips. A lawyer brushed by Myka and she swallowed despite herself, dreading the task ahead of her. Self important people were hard to work with, especially those who saw themselves well versed in law; they did not often relish the opportunity to be interviewed by a homicide detective. She turned to HG with a sigh of defeat just as she finished her sandwich.
"Do you wanna come with me? Help a bit?" HG grinned, balling up the wrapper of her food and chucking it into the garbage can.
"I would love to," she said, getting up and offering Myka a hand. Myka ignored it and stood up, brushing off the dust on her coat and rolling her eyes at her temporary partner. She seemed unperturbed by her rejection as they walked towards the base of the building.
"I really can't think of anything else to tell you, Detective Bering." The old partner sighed, leaning back his chair and staring out of the window, his face pale and long in grief. He wiped his face, his pale eyes watery, and sighed. "Max was a good man and a damn good lawyer. He didn't deserve to die like this."
"You knew about his addiction." HG phrased it as a statement, and the old man blinked in surprise before he nodded.
"Yes, I knew. Max told me after his first or so month of working here, and I helped him cover it up at work." Myka frowned. The man quickly continued. "In this business, Detective Bering, appearances are everything. If anyone would have know about Max's, well, problem, it would have cost a promising young lawyer his career and I didn't think he deserved that. We didn't do anything illegal to cover it up: we just made sure no one knew."
"No one?" HG asked, clearly a leading question.
"Only me and his secretary knew." The man confirmed. HG glanced at Myka with a grin, as if this discovery was somehow a success. Myka quickly looked away, focusing back on the plump man.
"Why his secretary?"
"He had to schedule the Narcotics Anonymous meetings in somehow." The man smiled weakly. "Mike handled the whole thing with wonderful digression." HG nodded thoughtfully and then glanced at Myka.
"Did he have any enemies? Anyone who would want to do this to him?" The routine question almost always embarrassed Myka, but in the end she found that sometimes, rarely, it helped. This time, it didn't seem to lead to anything as the partner shrugged.
"He was a Real Estate Lawyer. No one makes enemies by hashing out financial contracts, especially not Max. He was good at his job, friendly to his clients and on great terms with the opposing counsel, whatever the case. I genuinely can not think of a single person who would wish him harm." The man shook his head sadly and Myka's heart went out to him. He might not be the grieving mother she had left that morning, but a death, especially a sudden death like this, left people sad and aching, and society had little time for that.
They left the 32nd floor quickly (Myka disliked calm stern old men who reminded her of her father almost as much as she hated high buildings and self-important lawyers), but only after exchanging a few words with Mike the secretary. Mike the secretary, a quiet, nervous man, gave HG and Myka the victim's schedule. It showed a completely free lunch on the day of the murder, surrounded by appointments and tasks and meetings befitting a professional lawyers' schedule.
"He was adamant about keeping the lunch free," Mike admitted, "which is strange because when he has personal meetings, he usually enters them in the calendar as 'personal meetings'."
"Was this the first time this had happened?" HG asked before Myka could utter the question. The man glanced at HG: only Myka had shown her badge. He played with the ring on his finger nervously as he shook his head.
"No, I don't think he's ever done this before," he admitted again. Myka noted his nervousness with interest and wasn't surprised that when they were standing in the elevator, HG commented on it too.
"Our little secretary friend was nervous, wasn't he?" She commented with a smirk. Myka pursed her lips.
"I don't think it was because he was guilty of anything though," Myka said with a sigh. HG grinned, stepping towards Myka, he hands in her pocket of her coat.
"I think you made him nervous," HG agreed, grinning. Myka glanced down at HG's lips before flicking back to her eyes, shifting against the elevator wall as HG stepped into her personal space.
"I don't think that was me," Myka muttered on an exhale, her eyes burning into HG's to stop herself looking down again.
"I don't know," HG drawled as the elevator slowed down. The doors pinged and opened right as HG stepped back, throwing the phrase, "You have a similar effect on me," as she walked out. Myka blushed, quickly looking down and letting her hair fall forward, hiding her face before she followed HG out. Taking a deep Myka looked up to chastise HG for her comment.
Before she could, HG spun around. "Get down right now," she shouted as the elegant sound of bullet catalyzed the crystal melody of glass smashing: Myka felt something against her stomach and slammed into the ground, pain erupting up her side as people began screaming.