Title: Contraband
Chapter 2: She Builds Quick Machines
Disclaimer: I own nothing.
Don't let people drive you crazy when you know it's in walking distance. –Author Unknown
She Builds Quick Machines
Tristan was sitting at his desk Wednesday morning, filling out some paper work from a previous case while he waited for Mark to arrive. Suddenly, and without warning, the chair next to his desk was occupied. He looked up, brows still knit from concentrating on the work in front of him. His blue eyes met someone else's. Coincidentally, the other set of brows were knit, too.
"I don't like the insurance policy theory," Rory stated pensively.
"Good morning to you, too," he replied.
She waved her hand dismissively. "I don't have time for pleasantries right now. I just stopped in before I go to work."
"Okay. Do you have a better idea, then?"
"Well, maybe Daniel was cheating on his wife and she found out about it."
"Ah, so you haven't cleared the wife's name. You just thought of a different motive."
"Yes."
"What makes you so sure he was the one having an affair?"
"Come on, you always hear about men straying."
"Do you hold all men in such high regard?" Tristan asked wryly.
"No. Just some. It does happen you know. Maybe things were, I don't know . . . not working out with his wife."
"Maybe she was the one with a lover on the side. Maybe the other guy was tired of sharing. Did you ever think of that?"
"Have you talked to her—his wife?" Tristan nodded in response. "How was she?"
"Sad about her husband dying."
"See?"
"That doesn't mean anything. Some people are good actors. But we'll look into it."
"Because you think I might be right?" she asked eagerly.
"No, because I'm going to enjoy it when you're wrong," he said in earnest. He picked up a steaming mug from his desk and took a drink. When he set the mug back down, he wore a sour expression. "I keep drinking this, thinking it's going to get better one day."
Rory shook her head. "It isn't going to. There's a place a block south of here, you should stop there for coffee on your way to work—unless you can talk someone into getting better coffee here."
"Look around. Do you think the New York Police Department really has any extra money for gourmet coffee?"
Rory did look around, it was a bit drab. "I guess not," she agreed.
"Besides, I think I already used up my request card on you."
"But I'm worth it," she grinned.
"You have yet to prove that."
"You just wait. You have to think of this as an investment."
"So if I'm patient, I can expect a big return at a later date?"
"Yes."
"And that's supposed to be better?" he asked, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms.
"Better than your wildest dreams."
"I've had some pretty wild dreams this week. Want to make a few of them come true?" he asked, sounding a little less flippant than usual.
"I don't want to know the details of your wet dreams."
"How did you know they were about you? I didn't even say they were. Wishful thinking?"
Rory shook her head in response. "So, do you guys have any leads you're pursuing today?" she asked, changing the subject.
"Yes," he answered without elaborating.
"They are?"
"We got the Steinberg's financial information. We're going to go ask Ann about something."
"Something in particular?"
"Yes."
"What is it?"
"That's confidential for the time being."
She gave him an impatient look. "Well, good luck with that. She didn't feel like talking to me yesterday."
Tristan slapped his badge on his desk before responding. "I don't need luck, I have that. She has to talk to me."
"How nice for you. Would you like to know what's nice for me?"
"I'd very much like to know," he said pleasantly.
"She might have to talk to you, but I don't," Rory said as she stood up.
"No," he said with a small grin. "You only do that because you want to."
"You wish."
"I think we both know I have better wishes than that."
"In that case, I hope your dreams are vivid. Because that's the only place your wishes are going to come true."
"You're very presumptuous today," he observed as she glanced at her watch. "What with all this assuming my wishes and dreams are about you."
"I have to go. I'm going to be late."
"No clever remark this time?"
"I'll have to get back to you," she called over her shoulder as she walked away.
Tristan continued to grin as he watched Rory walk out of the precinct. She met Mark on his way in. He glanced at Rory and gave Tristan a perplexed look as he walked over to his desk. Tristan just nodded casually in Mark's direction as greeting and looked back down at the paperwork that was still in front of him.
"What was she doing here?"
"We were just mulling over some theories."
"Theories about what?" Mark asked suspiciously.
"The Steinberg case."
"How much information does she have to go off of?"
"The same stuff we do."
"What, did you tell her what we found yesterday?"
"Just the details about the weapon. I'm her new police source," Tristan explained, looking up.
"What, you're just going to tell her everything, so she can turn around and get it printed in tomorrow's edition of the paper? That'll give our suspects enough time to get out of dodge before we can get to them," Mark said incredulously. "I'm all for having someone around who can knock you down a peg or two, but you're going to be in some deep shit with Captain Meyer."
"No, I'm not. He gave me the okay to talk to her. It took quite a bit of persuasion on my part. But I made some good points in favor of the pact."
"Such as?"
"For starters, if she's around, I can keep an eye on her—make sure she doesn't write things we aren't ready for the public to know. Which will give us the upper hand. If we share some details about the case with her, she'll be on our side and be more likely to write about us in a positive light. That way, the community will trust us and be more willing to call in with tips. Then, we can catch the bad guys faster. That is why we're here, you know."
"I know why we're here. But did you provide the real reason for this delightful little alliance?"
"I just gave several reasons, pay attention."
"No, you gave several acceptable reasons, but I didn't hear the real reason in all that."
"And what, pray tell, do you think is the real reason?" Tristan asked in irritation, looking up at his partner again, glaring this time.
"It's become quite clear to me that you've been granted some sort of second chance."
"A second chance at what?" he asked with a definite edge in his voice.
"To accomplish whatever it is you failed to do fifteen years ago."
"Thirteen years," Tristan corrected before he could stop himself. "And I don't know what you're talking about. She drew the line in the sand a long time ago, and she still feels that strong aversion towards me. You would have seen that if you were paying any attention at all. I'm not stupid. Pursuing her would be a lot like Theodore Roosevelt at San Juan Hill. Unlike him, I don't purposely run through gun fire. I'd get shot."
"Yeah, Bon Jovi has a song about where you'd get shot," Stevenson retorted.
Tristan scowled at him before changing the subject. "Are you ready to go? We have things to do today."
"Yes."
"Good, let's get to it, then." Tristan stood up and put his jacket on without another word. They walked out of the precinct, both a little upset with the other.
NNNNNNNNNNNNNN
Later that morning, Rory was sitting at her desk in the newsroom. She picked up her phone, dialed a number from her notes, and waited for someone to answer.
"Hello?" a woman said on the other end of the line.
"Hi, is this Sarah Steinberg?"
"Yes, it is."
"I'm Veronica More from the Daily News and I'm working on a story about your brother-in-law, Daniel. I was wondering if you would be able to talk to me about it."
"Oh, okay," Sarah agreed.
"Was your husband close to his brother?"
"Of course, Dan was Roman's only brother. They have two sisters. It's such a shame, what happened. Roman is very upset, of course."
"Are your in-laws a close knit family? I noticed some of you live really close to each other."
"Yes, they are. The whole family always gets together to celebrate just about every holiday. Most of them haven't even strayed from their New York roots. Their father died years ago and they only have their mother now. And then they almost lost her earlier this year," she explained sympathetically.
"They did? Why?"
"She had a stroke, in February, I think it was."
"I'm so sorry to hear that. How has she been since then?" Rory asked in concern.
"Well, her short term memory isn't quite what it used to be, but she still lives on her own. Dan had thought she might need to live in a nursing home. He even tried to talk his other siblings into it. I guess maybe he thought they could overrule Betsy—that's their mother—if she disagreed."
"What happed with that? They didn't agree that she needed assisted living arrangements?"
"I suppose not."
"Then why would Daniel suggest it?"
"Well, I guess her mind was a bit more frail right after the stroke. He might have thought she couldn't make important decisions on her own any more—financial and whatnot."
"But she's okay?"
"Yes, she seems to be doing fairly well now."
"Did your mother-in-law know there was talk of moving her?"
"I'm not sure if it was ever discussed with her after the others rejected the idea."
"All right, thank you for your time, Mrs. Steinberg."
"You're welcome," the woman answered before they both hung up.
Rory turned to Marie. "Why would someone want to take over their parent's finances and put them into a nursing home if they're actually fine to live on their own?"
Marie thought about it for a moment. "Maybe if they wanted something—an heirloom—or something of that nature. And they didn't want to wait for the parent to . . . expire."
"If it's something in a will or a trust, I won't be able to find out what it was, unless I ask her directly. Her kids wouldn't even know if she didn't tell them," Rory pondered.
"Who?"
"Steinberg's mother, Betsy. Apparently he wanted to put her in a nursing home after she had a stroke. It might be far fetched, but I wonder. . . " She thought some more. Next to her, Marie was putting on her scarf and jacket, Rory looked over at her. "Where are you going?"
"Out. Hopefully to get an interview for an article I'm working on."
"I think I'll do the same. Want to share a cab?"
"Sure."
NNNNNNNNNNNNNN
Meanwhile, the detectives on the case were once again sitting at Ann Steinberg's kitchen table. They were in the middle of listening to her tell an anecdote about her husband when Tristan's cell phone buzzed from inside his pocket.
"Excuse me," he said as he stood up and stepped into the next room. "DuGrey."
"Did you know that Daniel wanted to put his mother in a nursing home?"
"I'd ask who this is, but your lack of greeting gives you away," he said, the corners of his lips just barely curved.
"Like you didn't program my number in," she said impatiently. "Well, did you?"
"Did I save your number, or know about his mom?"
"His mother. Stay in the game, DuGrey."
"Maybe I knew. Maybe I didn't. What about it?"
"He didn't think she was capable of making her own decisions—financially and perhaps legally speaking."
"Why not?"
"Because she had a stroke earlier this year. Hey, you didn't know!" she exclaimed accusatorily.
"You don't know what I know. Where did you find all this out?"
"I don't reveal my sources."
"Well then, I don't know if it's reliable information."
"I'll just say that it was a family member."
"So, what's your point?"
"Well, maybe his mother found out what he wanted to do and she didn't like it."
Tristan paused. "What are you suggesting?" he asked flatly.
"I'm just saying, she's someone with a motive."
He snorted at the idea. "That'll look real good splashed on the front page of the paper," he sarcastically said in a low voice, so the two in the other room wouldn't hear. "I thought we were on the same side, here. I'm sure the NYPD will get a lot of sympathy from the public if they find out we hauled in some little old lady for killing her son."
"We are on the same side. And it won't look bad if it turns out to be true. You're the one who said you have to consider the family members."
"Do you even know if his mother knew what he wanted to do?" he asked in irritation.
"No."
"Then you're wasting my time."
"Maybe I'll keep my next idea to myself and you can go without my help," she retorted.
"Let's get something straight here, Mary. I've come this far without your help and I've been just fine. You're the one who needs my help."
"Well, then help me out. What did you ask Ann today?"
"None of your business."
"A lot of good you are to me. Do you have anything for me today?"
He thought for a half a beat. "Well yeah. But you're going to have to wait until I see you in person before I can give to you," he answered in a harsh tone.
"And on that note, I have to go," she said hotly, hanging up promptly.
Tristan walked back into the kitchen, where a bank statement was sitting on the table in front of Ann. Mark looked up at Tristan when he entered the room with a scowl on his face. Mark shot his partner a questioning look, but Tristan just gave a small shake of his head and sat down at the table.
"Can you tell us who this check was made out to?" Mark asked Ann, pointing to a line on the statement.
"It was a check to Daniel's mother, Betsy," she answered, looking at the date and the amount of the check.
"That's quite a chunk of change to hand over to his mother. What was it for?"
"Land."
"What land?"
"It's in upstate New York. It's been in his family for three generations—four now, since we bought it from his mother."
"Did you but it before or after Daniel wanted her to move into a nursing home?" Tristan asked.
Mark momentarily glanced at him with furrowed brows.
"It was after," Ann answered hesitantly. "He was just worried about her after she suffered from a stroke."
"His brother and sisters thought she'd be fine on her own, though?" Tristan continued.
"Yes. It was just a mild stroke and she does seem to be doing all right now. She just uses a cane to help get around."
"What's on this land?" Mark asked.
"There's a small house. It's on a significant number of acres, around two hundred. There's a lake on it. The family has rented the house out at times—for people who want to get out of the city for a while, that sort of thing. Dan always kept up the maintenance and dealt with anyone who stayed there. He'd been doing so for years."
"And now you guys own it all?"
"Yes."
Mark looked at Tristan, who sighed despairingly at the thought of their next stop.
NNNNNNNNNNNNNN
Fifteen minutes later, the two men were standing in front of a door not too far from the one they had recently exited. Tristan rang the bell and they waited. A few moments later the door opened to reveal a short white haired old woman.
"Good afternoon, ma'am," Tristan said politely. "I'm Detective DuGrey and this is Detective Stevenson. We're investigating the murder of your son, Daniel. Could we come in and ask you some questions?"
"Yes, yes, come on in. We were just sitting down to some coffee."
"We?" Mark asked as Betsy Steinberg stepped away so they could enter the house.
When they did, they found Rory sitting on the sofa in the front room. She narrowed her eyes at Tristan incredulously.
"This is cozy," he said in her ear as he casually sat down next to her and crossed his leg over his knee.
Mark sat down in a chair to their left.
"What happened to me being wrong?" she angrily whispered back.
"That's not why we're here."
"Then why?"
Tristan didn't answer as the elderly woman walked in from the kitchen, a cup of coffee in both hands. She handed one to each of the gentlemen and took a seat in a rocking chair.
"We were just having a little talk when you boys got here," she said nicely. "Such handsome young men, I have a granddaughter around your age."
Rory thought of the pretty blonde woman she had seen yesterday and suddenly felt a strange sense of animosity. She turned back to the old woman with a slight glower. There was an awkward pause.
"Don't mind us," Tristan said encouragingly. "Go on and ask your questions, Mary."
A perplexed look crossed Betsy's face.
"He meant Veronica. You'll have to excuse him, he suffers from Tourette's," Mark explained, glaring at the blonde.
Tristan just looked back at him, moving a brow a minuscule degree in lack of concern.
Rory didn't want to continue with the two men there, but really didn't have a choice. "Mrs. Steinberg, I understand you suffered from a stroke earlier this year. Is this true?"
"Yes, it is. It wasn't too serious, though. I'm just fine now," she explained.
Rory wondered if the elderly woman had always been so thin, though. "Did you know that Daniel thought you might not be able to make decisions after you suffered from the stroke?" she asked.
"What do you mean?" the old woman asked in response.
"Well, he asked your other children if they thought you might need to live in a nursing home. You know, to have someone take care of you," she explained gently. "You didn't know that?"
The woman looked like she was getting a bit upset at the idea. Mark rolled his eyes at Tristan and shook his head a little. So that's where that information had come from.
"Daniel wouldn't do that. He knows I'm fine. The doctor said I was perfectly capable of living on my own. Daniel knew that."
"So, you didn't know?"
"You must have heard wrong. He wouldn't do that," she insisted.
Rory glanced at Tristan again, expecting to see him gloat triumphantly. But she couldn't read his expression. There wasn't even a hint of a smirk.
She turned her attention back to the woman. "There isn't anything in your will that he would have wanted is there? That he wouldn't have wanted to wait for?" she blurted out quickly.
Betsy frowned. "Wait for what? He bought the land that's been in the family for over a hundred years. He was worried about me. My Social Security check isn't very much, so now I'm more financially secure."
Rory looked at Tristan sharply, to see if he was surprised by this information, but if he was, she couldn't tell. A glance at Mark didn't help either. If it was new to them, they weren't giving anything away.
"Did he buy it before or after you had a stroke?" she inquired.
"After."
Rory sat in thought a moment.
"Are you finished?" Tristan asked her abruptly.
She frowned at him. "No, I—," she started.
However, he had taken her arm and roughly dragged her up off the sofa. "I'll walk you out."
"But—"
He opened the front door and pushed her through it.
"Hey! I wasn't finished!"
"It's our turn," he answered firmly.
"You heard my questions. Why can't I hear yours?" she asked vehemently.
"You can't sit in."
"But Monday—," she started, but he cut her off again.
"I'll tell you if we learn anything later," he hissed through gritted teeth.
And with that he shut the door in her face. Rory stood with her mouth gaping open indignantly for a moment before she walked down the stairs and sat down to wait.
NNNNNNNNNNNNNN
A half an hour later, Tristan and Mark exited the house and started down the stairs.
Rory stood up when they reached the bottom of the steps. She glared at one of them. "I was not finished with my interview when you rudely ushered me out."
"You were finished," he countered. "And I also want to take this time to point out that you were wrong. Are all Yalies this coldhearted, thinking a frail old lady would kill her son?"
"I'm not coldhearted. I just don't want to leave any stones unturned. Besides, anyone can carry a firearm. Someone issued you with one. And what were you here for anyway? If you were so sure she didn't do it," Rory said, standing directly in front of Tristan with her hands on her hips.
"You heard what she said. Daniel and his wife bought the family property a few months ago. Oh, and you were wrong about the extramarital affair idea, too. I'm going to mark it down on my calendar when I get back to my desk."
"You do that," she retorted.
"See, I look under all stones, too," he said, taking a step closer to her.
"Great."
"But thanks for the suggestion. We probably wouldn't have even thought of it without you," he said sardonically.
"Glad I could help," she snapped, matching his tone, her head tilted up to scowl up at him.
He stared back down at her in a tense moment.
"Are you going to kiss now?" Mark asked in a bored tone from a few feet away.
Tristan stared down at Rory a couple seconds longer before answering. "No," he replied as he looked over to his partner. "I wouldn't want anyone to break out into tears. I think it's my turn and I don't want to embarrass myself like that," he sneered while Rory glared at him some more.
"Well, I'm not sure what that's about. I could only guess," Mark said bleakly. "I'm hungry, I'm going home for lunch."
"All right," Tristan said before addressing Rory again, in a decidedly pleasanter tone. "He has to go walk his dog. It's a little one. The kind you could put in a purse."
"It is not. It's a large dog. The kind a man would have," Mark protested.
Rory nodded to reassure that she believed him.
"I'll see you back at the station."
"Sure, I'll be there in an hour," Tristan responded as Mark walked in the direction of the subway. He turned back to Rory. "He doesn't like reporters," he whispered loudly.
"I'd made that inference, actually."
"Don't take it personally. He just thinks the media is the enemy."
"I thought the criminals were the enemy."
"I think the exact order is terrorists, criminals, journalists," Tristan said, starting to grin as he ticked off the list on his fingers. "Have you eaten?"
She thought back to the lunch that was sitting in her desk back at the newsroom. "No."
"Then let's go," he said, taking her by the arm for a second time that day, though less aggressively than before, and steering her down the sidewalk.
"What makes you think I want to eat with you?" she asked. While he had dropped the venom in his voice, she had not.
"Because you want to know what we talked about in there," he answered confidently, jerking a thumb back at the house they were leaving.
Rory sighed unhappily, knowing he spoke the truth.
They walked to a diner a few blocks away and sat down in a booth next to the window. As they looked over their menus, Tristan spoke up. "So, you didn't know about the land, then," he stated. It wasn't a question.
"Maybe I did, maybe I didn't."
He glanced up at her for a second before looking back down. "You didn't, I can tell. So don't bother lying, it doesn't suit you."
"What makes you so sure I didn't know? I thought there was something in her will that Daniel wanted," she said after they had placed their orders.
He looked at her from across the table, it was a little like being X-rayed, but she didn't look away. He took a sip of his water before answering. "You need to work on your poker face," he told her. "Everyone in the room could tell when you learned something new." She opened her mouth to protest, but he cut her off before she could. "Everyone."
She sighed in frustration before continuing. "I was going to ask Mrs. Steinberg if she knew how her other kids felt about her selling the land to Daniel."
"Why?" he asked in a neutral tone of voice.
"Well, usually a parent divides their assets evenly among their children. And she just sold it all to one of them."
"Maybe it wasn't divided evenly. Maybe it was all going to go to Daniel, anyway."
"That wouldn't have been fair," Rory commented.
"Some parents don't love all their children equally."
"Then why would Daniel have bought it from her?"
He shrugged. "Maybe he didn't want anyone to know what he was doing there."
"You think he was doing something illegal?"
"Could be."
"Yeah," Rory agreed with a grin. "Maybe he was growing pot in the back forty."
"It's a good way to make money."
"Like enough money to buy all the land," she suggested. "Do you know what's on this property?"
"A house. And a lake. A getaway place, basically. Daniel had been taking care of it for a long time already."
"So, maybe not drugs."
"They don't really seem like hippies. But, again, we have to cover all our bases. Maybe it was a landing place for alien space craft," he suggested.
Rory smiled at the thought. "Move over Roswell," she joked as they started to eat their burgers and fries, which had arrived a minute before. "Can I be there when you ask the D.A. for a search warrant on those grounds?"
"No, that suggestion stays here. It was purely for your amusement."
"Really? Because I think the headline would read nicely. Police investigate possible UFO landing site in connection to murder case. That sounds good. I'd like to get that byline."
"Actually, we're going to question the two kids next. Ann's alibi checks out, so they'd be the next benefactors."
Rory wrote this down in her notepad, which was sitting on the table. When she was finished, Tristan reached over and tore the top sheet off. He crumpled it up and put it in his jacket pocket. She glared at him.
"That was off the record," he said evenly.
"I'm not sure if that works when you say it retroactively." He just looked her in the eye with his jaw clenched, not amused. "Okay, it works retroactively."
"That's what I thought."
"Did you learn anything else about this land deal?"
Tristan nodded. "We asked if she got a fair deal. She said she did, but we're going to get the land's value assessed to find out—we know how much he paid."
"You think he undercut her?"
"It's possible. She's old. She might not know the going rate of real estate these days."
"Maybe he was going to sell it to developers. Or actually, he was a contractor. He could have built a whole subdivision and sold the houses to make a big profit. His siblings might not have gone for the idea if he waited until their mother died."
"It wouldn't be out of the question."
"Did you really not ask if her children would have inherited the land all together?"
His mouth twitched a little. "We did. It was originally going to all of them," he answered.
"See? Maybe one—or all of them—held a grudge. If it turns out that he didn't pay full price, he got off easy. His siblings probably wouldn't have let him rip them off, had they gotten their share after their mother died. They could have named their price."
"True."
"And if they knew he wanted to sell it to someone else. Or to keep it all in the family. Their price could have been as high as they wanted. Now, they might not get anything—especially if their mother does end up moving to a nursing home one day."
"Yeah, but killing him wouldn't do them any good, since it all goes to the two kids after Ann dies."
"And that's why they're your next suspects?" she asked as she made a note and quickly put the notepad in her purse. She eyed him defiantly, but he hadn't made a move.
"Yup," he continued. "They're the ones who would have had something to gain by his dying. I'm glad that makes sense to someone in your condition."
"What condition?"
"The condition of being a Yale graduate."
"It's the best school in the country—quite possibly the world."
"Actually, Harvard is. It was the first in America, too."
"First doesn't mean best," Rory argued.
He wiggled his brows at her. "I'm glad you think that. Because while the first may have been disappointing, the next could be amazing," he said with a smirk.
"The next what?" she asked flatly.
"Just think about it," he said as the waitress brought them each a cup of coffee. He took a sip and set it down, dissatisfied. "I'm oh or two today, what is the deal? If we ever come back here, let's not get coffee."
"Good idea," Rory agreed, putting her cup down, as well.
Tristan signaled for the waitress to bring the bill and he went up to the cashier to pay.
Rory narrowed her eyes at him when he returned and refused to take the money she tried to hand him. "I better not hear any rumors down at the precinct that we're dating just because you bought me lunch."
"No worries. I keep my private life private."
"I could have paid for my half, you know," she continued.
"You also could just say thank you, like a normal person," he said grimly. "But if it makes you feel better, you can owe me."
"Somehow, that doesn't make me feel better," she said as they headed for the door.
"Come on, I'll take you back to work. You'll get to sit in the front seat this time."
"Oh boy."
NNNNNNNNNNNNNN
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The next morning, Tristan was in a small room, sitting across the table from a young man a few years older than himself.
"Did you and your father get along, Jason?" Tristan asked.
"Sure."
"You never argued about anything?"
"No, not really."
"Were you aware that your parents were leaving all of their assets to you and your sister after they die?"
The man shrugged. "They don't have anyone else to leave everything to."
"You know that your parents recently bought a significant amount of land from your grandmother, right?"
"Yeah, so?"
"So, you knew you two were going to inherit all of the land after your parents die?"
Jason furrowed his brows. "I wasn't sure. I mean, I figured it would pass on to me and Amy. But I didn't know whether or not my parents changed their will yet."
"Do you talk with your sister much?"
The man shrugged again. "What is much? We keep in touch, she's my sister. We have family dinners sometimes. But we're not Siamese twins or anything."
"So, were you in on it together?"
"In on what?"
"Killing your father."
"What? No! We didn't do it!" Jason said angrily.
Tristan tried a different angle. "You weren't working very far from where your father was Monday morning. Did you slip over to see him?"
"No."
Tristan continued. "Did you argue about anything when you saw him? I'd understand. I know it's hard to get along with fathers sometimes. Hell, it can be difficult all the time."
"I already said we didn't argue. Weren't you listening?" Jason asked impatiently. "We got along just fine. I wasn't there and I didn't kill my dad."
"You would have had a lot to gain by it."
"Not until after my mom dies."
"Is she next on your list?"
"What? I don't have a list! You want to know who had a problem with my dad?"
Tristan tilted his head and raised a brow, encouraging the other man to continue.
"My uncle, Roman. He's been pissy ever since Mom and Dad bought the stupid land from Grandma. So, why don't you go talk to him? And you can check with my work. I was there at eight o'clock on Monday morning, just like I am every morning. And I didn't leave until I heard about my dad."
Tristan was about to say something else, when Mark stuck his head in and motioned for Tristan to join him. "His alibi checks out. He was at work."
"Great," Tristan replied. "Did you get his ex-wife on the phone?"
"Yeah. She said they split on good terms. They just made better friends. Whatever that means. She said Jason and his dad got along fine."
"That's what he said."
"I heard."
"Well, let's bring in the daughter, then."
NNNNNNNNNNNNNN
That afternoon, Rory was sitting at her desk, finishing up a phone call. She sat the phone back in the cradle and looked over to her co-worker.
"Well, Daniel's sister, Becky, definitely didn't kill him. She moved to New Hampshire a couple of years ago. She recently eloped and was meeting with a wedding planner Monday morning," Rory said, making a note if it on her notepad.
"Why would she be meeting with a wedding planner if she already got married?"
"She's planning on having a reception here in the city next week one night for her family to celebrate with her."
"Still? I mean, under the circumstances?"
"That's kind of what I thought, but sometimes it's a good idea to celebrate happy things in times like this."
"I guess."
"Anyway, she thought Daniel wanting to put their mother in a nursing home and buying up their inheritance was pretty crummy. But other than that, she was pretty neutral about it. She doesn't live here anymore. And it wasn't like she needed money or anything."
"Well, that's not helpful. I found some information on the other sister for you," Marie said.
"What is it?"
"Her name is Dana. She and her husband own and run a business in upper Manhattan. I couldn't get a hold of her for you, though. No answer."
"I'll try later."
Just then, James strolled over to Rory's desk and peered over her shoulder. "What are you working on, Gilmore?"
"I was just looking into Steinberg's siblings."
"Are the police investigating them as suspects?"
"No. At least, not yet."
"Do you know who they are looking into?"
"Yes. But I only know off the record."
"Then I suggest you find out—on the record—if anyone has been charged before you go down your own path."
"You'll be eating your words when I end up being right."
"We'll burn that bridge when we get there," he said before walking away.
Rory picked her phone up and dialed the number of the twenty-first precinct and then punched in an extension. When there was no answer, she tried a cell phone number instead. However, no one answered it, either. "My source isn't picking up," Rory called over to James, who was a few desks down.
"Then go check with the prosecutor's office," he called back.
She sighed in response. "Fine."
NNNNNNNNNNNNNN
Twenty minutes later, Tristan was placing the paperwork he had been working on the day before into a file folder, and then put the folder in a basket with other paperwork at the corner of his desk. He was clearing off his workspace, as though organizing his physical surroundings might help organize the thoughts swimming around in his head.
He wasn't bothering with being quiet about his task as he shuffled things around in agitation. So when he suddenly stopped and sat still—though his chore remained unfinished—Mark noticed. The dark haired man frowned when he glanced across the two desks to peer at Tristan. The pen that the blonde had been clicking fell to his desk and he rested his cheek on his fist.
Tristan stared across the precinct in the direction of the door. Something in his eyes looked a little—sad, if Mark had to pick an emotion. He glanced over his shoulder at the door to see what Tristan was gazing at and he got his answer. Rory was talking to the prosecuting attorney just inside the precinct. She was smiling politely at the tall red haired man as they talked. For the first time this week, she had her hair down, it flowed a couple inches past her shoulders in loose waves.
Mark turned back to his partner, who continued to watch Rory intently. "Cheer up, emo kid. She'll probably be over to talk to you next," he said.
"Hmm?" Tristan answered absentmindedly, having not heard what the other man had said.
A moment later, Mark assumed the reporter was making her way over, as Tristan had gone back to rearranging his desk. Rory plopped down in the chair next to him.
"Oh hi," Tristan greeted casually, as thought he hadn't been staring at her a minute earlier.
"Hey."
"Couldn't stay away?" he said with a smirk.
"I'm actually here on my editor's orders. Well, I was after you didn't pick up your phone."
"And if you always come right on over in person when I don't, then you shouldn't expect me to answer very often."
Across from Tristan, Mark shook his head down at his desk dismally. He decided to get up rather than stay here and listen. "I'm going to go have a little chat with Miss Steinberg," he told Tristan.
"Okay," he answered before Rory continued talking.
"I had to check with the A.D.A. if anyone was charged for the murder yet," she explained.
"And what did he say?" Tristan asked with interest.
"No charges as of this afternoon, and I quote, 'Detectives DuGrey and Stevenson have failed to bring forth sufficient evidence to be granted a warrant for arrest for any of their suspects.'"
"That's nice," Tristan commented pleasantly.
"Not really. I got the impression he's not your biggest fan."
"Oh, did you bond over that fact?"
"No. I got what I needed and let him get back to work. He seems very important. Or he wants people to think that, anyway."
"Yeah. Lawyers," Tristan said, shaking his head. "They basically suck as human beings. And that particular lawyer is on a bit of a power trip. He gets to ride us until we give him what he needs to build his case."
"So, no luck today, then?"
He shook his head grimly and sighed. "Nope, not really. In fact, I need to get out of here. I've been cooped up all day. Walk with me," he said suddenly as he stood up and put on his black jacket.
When they had exited the building, they started walking around the block that the station was on. Tristan shoved his hands in his pants pockets and squinted in the sunlight as his dark blue and silver tie whipped around in the wind. He gave her a sidelong glance. "It's getting kind of cold out for all those skirts you keep wearing," he commented as he nodded at her dark grey pencil skirt that she was wearing with a maroon shirt. Her black suit jacket was the only thing warm about her outfit.
"Oh, yeah, it is getting chilly out. But I've been doing this for years now. I know what to wear to get more information from my sources, particularly the males. And the guys working here are no different," she explained, jerking her head toward the building next to them.
"Ah, so you're dressing skimpy for me, I'm flattered."
"I wouldn't call it skimpy, I still look professional. But if it makes you feel any better, I do feel shallow about it."
"I think it makes us the shallow ones," he reasoned, "and you just strategic."
"Thanks, that sounds better," she said with a smile.
"No problem," he said as they walked. He sighed in frustration before continuing. "There wasn't anything illegal going down at the land. We drove up there yesterday. And Daniel's son has an alibi. He says he didn't even know he and his sister were going to inherit everything. So, his motive and opportunity went out the window."
"Did you search his residence?"
"Yup. Nothing."
"I found in the paper that he was married for a while earlier this year."
"Yeah. His divorce was final around the time his grandmother had her stroke. He and his ex-wife were married for like five minutes."
"Months actually, but you were close."
"Yeah, I was estimating."
"That sounds like my parents."
Tristan looked over at her. "Did the pressures of raising you as a baby prove to be too much for them?"
"No," she said with her brows furrowed in amusement. "I was twenty-two when they got married."
"Oh, so they couldn't take the pressures of you getting into all that legal trouble, then."
"That incident happened before they got married. I didn't have anything to do with them."
"Ah. When did you graduate from Yale?"
"Two thousand and seven. In the spring, why?"
"Just checking."
"Why? When did you graduate from Harvard?"
"Same time. I was just making sure you didn't spend a year in jail."
"Oh, no, just a few hours."
"So it was just a misdemeanor that you committed, then."
"Actually," she said with furrowed brows, "it was a felony. I had to do three hundred hours of community service."
He grinned at her. "You couldn't get a lawyer to get you out of it?"
"My grandpa hired one, actually. But the judge was tired of privileged kids like us getting off easy after behaving badly."
"Don't group me in with you Yale criminals," he said, scandalized. "I didn't have any legal problems in college. In a manner of speaking. And what makes you think I'm still so privileged?"
"Aren't you?"
"Am I?" he turned the question on her and raised his brows.
They'd reached a hotdog vendor on the sidewalk and Tristan put up two fingers to order for them. Before he could open his wallet, Rory handed a few dollar bills over to the vendor. Tristan glanced at her grimly, but put his wallet back without arguing. They took their hotdogs and continued down the sidewalk.
"Did you vandalize school property?"
"No. I love Yale, why would I mess it up?"
"Okay. Did you pay a professor for your grades?"
She looked at him, truly scandalized. "No. If anything, I did the opposite."
"How?"
"I asked a professor if I earned a grade that I felt was too high—people said he was really tough."
"Who does that?" he asked incredulously, but with a grin. "Take your grade and go."
"I do that. I want to earn my grades."
He stopped suddenly, so she stopped, too. "Did you have a 'special relationship' with an instructor?"
"No."
"I think you did. That denial was too . . . quick and adamant. That's what it was, wasn't it?"
"No," she insisted again. "And I don't think you would go to jail for that. If so, then Paris would have been arrested."
Tristan looked pained as they continued to walk. "Please don't tell me any more."
"Tell you? I saw!"
"Stop! I don't to hear any more!"
"He was old, too."
"How old?" Tristan didn't want to know, but couldn't help from asking.
"He was a classmate of my grandfather."
"Is that who she's marrying? That's not what I thought you meant when you said you all went to Yale together."
"God no. The professor died—over summer break."
Tristan cringed and then laughed a little. "That Paris," he said with a grin and a shake of his head.
"She's something, all right." They continued in silence for a couple of minutes before Rory spoke again. "So maybe the ex did it."
"What?"
"Maybe Jason's ex-wife killed Daniel."
"Why?"
"Maybe she wanted to get back together, and thought it would be nice to have a little nest egg to sit on."
"They parted on good terms and all, but they don't really talk much any more. We checked his phone records. I think you're just grasping at straws now."
"It's possible," she said as they reached the front entrance of the police station. She felt like they got back pretty quick. Tristan stopped at the steps and watched some cars pass by on the street. Rory continued with her theory. "Maybe she was planning to seduce him and win him back," she suggested with a grin.
He smiled at her in response. "I am clearly a member of the weaker-minded sex. We're so easily conquered."
"I wouldn't say weak-minded."
Tristan looked up at the building and sighed heavily. "I guess it's my turn to question Steinberg's daughter."
Rory remembered the blonde woman. There was that curious feeling again. She gave herself a mental shake and thought of something else to say before she had to leave. "So, are you the good cop or the bad cop?"
"Hmm?" he asked as he turned back to her, with a half smile and a brow cocked.
"When you interrogate suspects, are you the good cop or the bad cop?" she asked again.
"You'll have to get yourself arrested again to find that out."
"I'd have to get picked up for murder for you to question me," she argued. "I don't want to know that badly."
"Then I guess you'll never know."
"You're no fun."
"That's your opinion. In fact, I can think of a place we could have some fun," he drawled.
She raised a brow. "Atlantic City?"
"I was thinking somewhere here in Manhattan."
She shook her head dismally. "You were so close. We made it all the way around the block before you had to go and ruin it."
"You don't even know what fun activity I was going to suggest," he protested. "I think you're the one with your mind in the gutter."
"Fine, what were you going to propose?" she asked with her arms crossed.
"No, it's too late now," he said haughtily, before sobering. "I have to get back to work."
"Yeah, so do I," she said, but she stopped him again before he got away. "Hey, do you still have that page from my notepad that you stole yesterday?"
He instinctively put his left hand in his jacket pocket and shrugged. "I don't know. How bad do you want it?" he asked.
She considered him a second before she stepped up to him, a lot closer than necessary. She tilted her head up to his ear and slid her right hand into his pocket, clasping his hand, which was loosely holding the paper he had put there the day before. "Oh, I want it real bad," she said quietly in his ear, more seductively than the situation strictly called for.
It caused his heart to beat faster, but other than that he masked his surprise well. Rory took the paper and started to remove her hand from his pocket, but he grabbed her hand fast and leaned down to her ear.
"Well played," he whispered back, his breath was warm on her neck. He released her hand—and the paper. "Bye, Mary." He said casually before walking up the steps without another word.
Rory watched him for a moment. "See you later. . . Harvard," she said faintly before turning to the street to hail a cab.
NNNNNNNNNNNNNN
Later that evening, Rory was in her living room, considering her dinner options, when she decided to go across the hall. She stepped out of her apartment and knocked on the door opposite her own. It swung open after just a few seconds.
"Howdy, neighbor," Lucy said with a friendly smile. Rory stepped into the apartment and said hello to Olivia, who was sitting on the couch, looking somewhat frazzled, with papers covering the coffee table.
"Hi Rory," Olivia greeted.
"How's the art show coming along?"
"Genius," Lucy answered for her friend. "She's crazy busy with all the artists that want to bring their work next week."
"It's not that many," Olivia argued.
"Don't listen to her. She's going to have a full house. It's why she's stressing out so much about it now."
"Well, I saw your new displays in the windows downstairs when I came in tonight," Rory said, "and it looks great."
"Thanks, I worked on it all afternoon," Olivia said. "Oh, and I got your grandparents' RSVP in the mail today."
"Yeah, my grandma said they'd be here for the show. You know how they like to check in on their investment from time to time."
"Yes, I remember. I hope the show lives up to their expectations."
"I'm sure it will. They liked the last couple they came to."
"I know. But I hope they're not just trying to be nice."
"Oh, they wouldn't do that," Rory reassured. "Well, they would, but you would be able to tell—it would be a compliment that's really an insult—and always delivered with a smile."
"Great."
"Don't worry about it. I'll invite them up for drinks before they look around downstairs, if you want."
"I wouldn't mind that, actually," Olivia said.
"Then it's done. Oh, and I talked to the editor of the Arts section of the paper and she's going to send over a reporter."
"Please tell me it's you."
"It's me."
"Thank God," Olivia said, relieved. "I hope you don't mind taking a short break from the dead bodies."
"I don't mind at all."
"So," Lucy said, addressing Rory, "speaking of dead bodies, did you find any good ones this week?"
"There was one on Monday. The police are still trying to find the person who did it."
"Are you spying on them?"
"Who, the police? No."
"Oh, okay. I was just wondering. I thought you might be banned from all the precincts in Manhattan," Lucy said.
"No. But it did help that I ran into a detective who knows that I'm Rory Gilmore."
"Good timing. It was right when you needed someone. Lucky."
"It was more of a cause and effect thing than luck. But yeah, it did work out nicely," Rory said. "Hey, I was thinking about ordering something for supper, you want in?"
"What were you getting?" Olivia asked.
"Food."
"We love food," Lucy said. "Definitely count us in."