Title: Contraband
Chapter 3: You Got No Right
Disclaimer: I own nothing.
The jealous are troublesome to others, but a torment to themselves. –William Penn [Some Fruits of Solitude]
You Got No Right
Rory walked into the precinct on Friday morning and glanced around. No one was there yet, it was still fairly early. Well, one person was there. And by the looks of things, he was still there, not already there. She walked over to Tristan's desk and stopped beside it. A desk light was on, shining down on his head, which was resting on his arms. Rory stuck a finger out and poked him in the shoulder. Nothing happened, so she poked him again, harder.
Tristan jerked his head up and blinked rapidly. "Hmm?" he mumbled, looking around, confused.
"Good morning, how are you?" she asked pleasantly as she sat down.
He rubbed his eyes and looked up at her. "Is it morning?"
"Well, the sun is up and it doesn't usually do that at night. So I'm going to go with yes."
"What time is it?" he asked, squinting at his watch.
"It's about seven fifteen. Did you sleep here?"
"Uh, maybe," he answered guiltily, his voice was lower than usual, from sleep. "Haven't you ever fallen asleep at your desk before?"
"A few times," she admitted. "I fell asleep at the kitchen table once, too. I never did get to take that Shakespeare test," she lamented, thinking back nostalgically.
Tristan thought for a moment and smiled slowly. "But if I'm remembering the same Shakespeare test, then your meltdown was definitely worth seeing."
Rory thought about the spectacle, too. "I may have yelled at some people."
"Not may, did."
"Weren't you clearing this off when I came by yesterday?" she asked as she looked at all the papers and files scattered on his desk. There were also a number of Post-It notes sticking to things.
"Yes."
"What happened to that?"
"I came back up here and it got messy again."
"I see. So, what were you doing before you fell asleep?"
"I was just up all night, trying figure out how you could possibly have landed on the pseudonym Veronica More. Then I rested my eyes for a while. And the next thing I knew, I was getting poked by the very woman in question."
"Okay, hopefully that's not really why you fell asleep here. Because you could have just asked."
"All right, how did you get the name?"
"I already said, my mom thought it up. Apparently, when you spell my nickname incorrectly, you get a nickname for Veronica. And the last name is just the second half of Gilmore—not much mystery to that one."
"How many names does one person need? You don't look like a Veronica, by the way."
"I don't think so either. But it was better than some of her other suggestions."
"Why? What were they?"
"Oh, they all sounded like names someone could have if they worked in the porn industry, actually." Tristan grinned at the thought. "Now, why were you really here so late?"
"I was working on a case. I was just trying to connect some of the dots."
"The Steinberg case?" she asked eagerly.
"No. I don't want to hurt your feelings, or anything, but that case isn't the center of my world. And I needed a break from it. We have a couple other cases we're working on. Steinberg is just sucking up a lot of time and brain power at the moment."
"Maybe they're connected," she suggested hopefully.
"They aren't."
"But how do you know?"
"Because life isn't a movie or a television show. Besides, this one was a convenience store robbery gone badly. And, as you know, the Steinberg murder didn't involve theft," he explained as he took off his tie and opened his bottom desk drawer.
Rory watched as he pulled a different tie out of the drawer and put it on to replace the other. He dropped the first tie into the drawer and shut it. He looked back at her. She had a brow raised.
"What?"
"You've done this before," she observed.
"Once or twice."
"Mm-hmm. Anyway, you were explaining how the murders weren't related. Was there a security camera at the convenience store?"
"Yeah, it wasn't very good quality, though. And the witness accounts of the shooter's appearance don't match up. That's the problem with witnesses. They aren't lying, but their memories aren't great. They can't remember details. For example, what did my tie look like? The one I had on before?"
Rory stared at him for a moment. "I want to say it had stripes."
He smirked at her. "And there you have it."
"You had it on yesterday, I saw it. Shoot, that's going to bother me now," she said before she suddenly remembered why she'd come. "I brought you something." She handed over a cup.
"Look at that."
She sat a white pastry bag down on the desk as well. "I have doughnuts, too."
"No thanks."
"Why not? They're really good," she said in a sing-song voice. "And breakfast is the most important meal of the day, even if you went to Harvard."
"I'm not sure doughnuts qualify as a balanced breakfast. Plus, I am not a stereotype. If I eat too many of those, I won't be able to keep up on the foot chases."
"Do those happen a lot?"
"Occasionally. You never know when you're going to get into a good foot chase." He took a sip of his coffee and nodded his head. "This is much better. I think I'll be able to get through the morning with it."
"I told you."
"Yup, you did," he said before running his tongue over his teeth. He made a face and put a hand to his mouth. He smelled his breath and made a sour expression. "I need to brush my teeth." He opened the bottom drawer again and pulled out a travel toothbrush and toothpaste.
"What else do you have in there?" Rory asked, sitting up to try to get a look.
He put some paste on the brush and stood up, closing the drawer. "Wouldn't you like to know?"
"Obviously, since I asked."
He didn't answer, but started to walk towards the restroom. "I'll be back."
Rory ate a doughnut while she waited for Tristan to return. When he did, he sat back down with a sigh and put the toothbrush back in the drawer.
"That's a nice seven o'clock shadow you have going on there," she commented. He looked her in the eye, expressionless, and opened the drawer again. "No really, it looks good, don't worry about it," she insisted with a smile. She even meant it, it wasn't a bad look for him.
Just then, some of the other detectives started to arrive. Some of them saw Rory sitting with Tristan and took in the fact that he had on the same shirt he had worn the day before, as well as a scruffy face. A few of them shot smirks in his direction and snickered, but he just shook his head warningly in response.
"What?" Rory asked.
"What?" he answered, looking back at her.
"Why are you shaking your head?"
"No reason."
Mark walked into the precinct then and went to his desk. He looked from Rory to his partner and gave him annoyed look. Tristan shook his head again.
"There, you're doing it again!" Rory exclaimed.
"I'm not doing anything," he argued, holding his hands up in protest.
"If you insist," she said, glancing at her watch. She could probably stay five more minutes.
Tristan squinted down at the document in front of him and brought it closer to his face. He shook his head impatiently before he opened the bottom desk drawer—again—and took out a case. He opened it and put on a pair of black framed glasses before he looked back down at the paper on his desk. Something inside Rory flopped, oddly. It may have been her stomach. Or her spleen. What was the deal today? She wondered. She recovered, though, before he looked back up at her.
"Really?" she asked with a raised brow.
"What?"
"Four eyes?"
"Clever, did you think that up all by yourself?"
"No. I never knew you wore glasses."
"I'm fairly certain there are plenty of things you don't know about me. And I don't wear them very much. Only sometimes. Like for reading. When I remember to put them on. Sometimes," he stressed. "This print is really small," he added, indicating the paper in his hand.
"So, every hour of every day," she said ironically.
"Funny. As we age, some things just don't work they way they used to," he explained.
Rory snorted and unsuccessfully tried to stifle a giggle.
"What now?"
"Nothing. It's just that, you know they make pills for that these days, right?" she asked with a smile.
"Oh, clap clap clap. I could put these away, if they're distracting you," he offered, putting a hand to his glasses.
"No, it's all right. They actually make you look smart."
"Well, at least I can look it."
She glanced at her watch again before looking back at him. "I should go, I have to meet with my editor at eight," she said as she stood and picked up her coffee. She threw away the doughnut bag before turning to go. "See you later, Harvard."
"Bye, Mary," he answered. He stood up and went to his file cabinet.
Mark was about to say something when Rory hurried back. She went up to Tristan and grabbed his arm. "It was blue," she said with a smile, looking up at him.
He looked at her, questioningly. "What was blue?"
"The tie you were wearing before. It was striped. Silver and blue. Dark blue, but not quite as dark as your eyes," she said excitedly. "Right?"
He paused a moment. "Yeah. Right," he answered quietly. He looked down at his arm, where her hand still was.
She took it away hastily and cleared her throat. "Well, I should get going," she said before she walked away and out the door.
Mark was looking at Tristan. "How much did you tell her this time?"
"I didn't tell her anything today," he answered and frowned. "She didn't really ask, either."
"Then why was she here so early?"
Tristan was still looking at the door. "Oh, uh, I don't know. She brought me coffee."
Mark arched a brow skeptically. "She came to see you and to give you coffee?"
"Yeah, why?" Tristan asked, looking over at the other man.
"Nothing. I just want to let you know that I feel a lot smarter than you right now. And it feels good."
NNNNNNNNNNNNNN
Later that day, Rory was sitting in Ann Steinberg's living room. Rory had finally persuaded the woman into talking with her. They had been discussing Daniel for a little over an hour, so Rory had enough to write an article about the deceased. Now she was interested in solving the crime again.
"How do you feel about your children being questioned about your husband's murder?" she asked Ann carefully.
The woman shook her head. "Jason and Amy wouldn't have killed their father. There's just no way."
"What can you tell me about them?"
"Jason is very responsible. He's never gotten into any trouble."
"He didn't need money for anything?"
"Oh no. Before he got married, he lived with us. So, he had quite a bit of money saved up. He's not extravagant."
"What about Amy?"
"Well, she does like to have fun on the weekends."
"Oh?"
"Yes, in fact, there are a couple of bars that she's no longer allowed to enter," Ann admitted.
"Really?"
"Yes. But she just likes to have fun. She's really harmless."
Rory had her doubts. "Did she have any money problems?"
"Well, she does have a little bit of credit card debt. Nothing too significant, though."
"Did she ever ask you for money?"
"No. And her father didn't even know about it. She intended to pay it off on her own."
"You're sure?"
"Positive. I know my kids, they wouldn't do this," Ann stated firmly.
Rory thought it would be a good idea to leave at this point. She didn't want to offend Ann the way she had offended her mother-in law a couple days ago. "Thank you, Mrs. Steinberg. I think I have enough for an article about your husband. Can I call you if I have any more questions?"
"Yes, of course. And thank you for writing about him. I'll walk you to the door."
When Rory had walked down the steps to the side walk, she was going to hail a cab to go to her next destination. However, she saw a shiny black Camaro parked on the street a couple of houses down. So instead, she meandered around until Detectives DuGrey and Stevenson walked out of Roman and Sarah's house.
"Fancy seeing you here, Mary," Tristan commented casually.
"What were you doing there?" she inquired.
"Just talking. You know, police stuff."
Mark was glad that his partner had the decency to not blab everything to his reporter friend while he was still around.
"I thought you were considering Daniel's children as suspects."
"That was yesterday, now we're going in a different direction."
"Oh?" Rory asked with an arched brow. She pointedly looked up at the house they had exited and then back at Tristan. "Where'd you get an idea like that?"
"It was Stevenson's idea," he answered, nodding his head in Mark's direction.
"No, it wasn't," the other man argued.
"All right, so a little birdie told us."
"Oh really?" she asked suspiciously.
"Yes really. And you can wipe the smirk off your face, because it wasn't you."
"Who then?"
"Don't worry about it."
"Was it Amy?" she asked. "You talked to her yesterday."
"I said don't worry about it."
"Fine," Rory retorted. She turned back to the street to catch a cab. She should have just gone for it earlier, since waiting ended up being fruitless.
"Where are you going now?" Tristan asked with kind interest.
"To talk to someone."
"Who?"
"Don't worry about it."
"You're spirited today," he observed.
"What can I say? You bring it out in me."
"I wonder what else I can bring out of you."
"That doesn't even make any sense," Mark complained dryly.
"Just go with it."
"Can we go? We need to find out if he has an alibi," Mark asked.
"Yeah, let's go. Maybe we'll run into each other again, Mary."
"I can't wait," she replied flatly as she got into a cab.
Rory's next stop was Dana, Daniel's sister. She was sure there was a story with the siblings. She had already talked with Becky and Roman's wife, plus it appeared the police were looking into him. So she'd drop in on the other sister. She rode the taxi to upper Manhattan and it stopped to drop her off a tall office building.
There were many businesses and offices in the building. She went in and took a look at the list of names indicating what floor people worked on. She heard the door open and close behind her, but she didn't look up. When she'd found the floor she was looking for, she turned to walk to the elevator, but stopped short.
"Are you following me?" she incredulously asked Tristan and Mark, who were waiting for the elevator.
They turned to look at her. "We actually have better things to do with our time than follow you around. Like work. Those criminals won't turn themselves in. At least, not usually," Tristan answered.
"I thought you were going to find out Roman's alibi."
"We are. What are you doing here?"
"I want to talk to their sister, Dana. She works here."
"Cool, good idea," he commented.
"Why are you here?" she asked slowly and impatiently, as though Tristan was a small child.
"You just said why we were here and I confirmed it. You need to work on your listening skills, Doll Face." Just then, the elevator doors opened and they all walked into it. "What floor?" he asked nicely.
"Sixth," she answered.
He pressed the number and the doors shut. "Oh, us too. What a coincidence."
"What? Why?"
Tristan put a hand on Marks shoulder and grinned at him. "We've one upped her," he said enthusiastically.
"It's about damn time," Stevenson answered.
"How?" Rory demanded.
"She doesn't like to be out of the loop," the dark haired man observed.
"No, see, Mary here is special," Tristan explained. Rory looked offended by the remark. "What? No one's ever told you that before?"
"They have. That's just the first time it's ever sounded like it would get me a seat on the short bus."
Tristan just grinned in response. When the elevator stopped and opened its doors, all three of them got off.
Rory shot the blonde detective a scowl. "Why are you here?" she demanded in a loud whisper at Tristan's right.
"You'll see," he answered. They approached the receptionist for the floor and Rory waited for the other two to speak first, however, Tristan glanced at her. "Go ahead. Ladies first."
"Could I speak with Dana Johnson?" Rory asked the receptionist.
"Do you have an appointment?"
"No, I'm a reporter for the New York Daily News. I'd like to speak with her about her brother."
"I'm sorry, but she's in a meeting at the moment," the woman answered.
The two men held up their badges at the same time. "Ask her if we could have a moment," Mark told the woman, who hesitated before standing up.
"Of course. Right this way, officers," she said, gesturing for them to follow her.
"She's coming too," Tristan said, jerking his head towards Rory, who looked at him in surprise before going along. "You're welcome," he said with a smirk as they walked down the hall.
The secretary stopped at an office and had them wait until she returned with Dana. The woman entered her office and took a seat behind her desk.
"Mrs. Johnson, was your brother, Roman, at work Monday morning?" Mark asked.
"Yes, he was," she answered matter-of-factly.
Rory looked at Tristan sharply and glared at him.
"I see you didn't know he works for his sister," he whispered in her ear without taking his eyes from the older woman.
"I knew," she hissed back.
"No, you didn't. And what did I tell you about lying?" he asked quietly before addressing Dana. "Where is Roman's office? We'd like to have a word with him."
"It's upstairs. His secretary will take you to his office," she answered.
"Thanks," Tristan said as the two started to leave. "See you later," he whispered to Rory with a grin.
"You aren't with them?" Dana asked when Rory hadn't followed them out.
"No. I'm actually a reporter for the Daily News."
"Oh, so you're writing about my brother, then?"
"Yes."
"We're sure getting a lot of attention these days," she commented dryly.
"Yes, I'm sorry about your loss, but I was wondering if I could ask you some questions about your family."
"All right, I have some time now that I'm out of that meeting."
"Is it true that you didn't think your mother should move to a nursing home after she had a stroke earlier this year?"
The woman seemed surprised at Rory's knowledge of their family drama. "That's true. She was okay to live on her own. Daniel obviously wanted to get his hands on that damn land before we all inherited it."
"That's kind of what I thought might be the case. How do you feel about him buying the land?"
"I don't think he had the right, we're all in the family, not just him. If he'd wanted it that badly, we'd have sold him our shares after Mom died. He's always been her favorite, though."
"Really?"
"Yes. He and Roman are the favorites. They all live right close together, near Mommy," she explained bitterly.
"They're both favorites of you mother?"
"Sure. They used to be pretty close, Daniel and Roman. But Roman hasn't been speaking to Mom or Daniel ever since they made that little deal."
"He hasn't?"
"Nope. Although, truth be told, I haven't been talking to Mom, either."
"You're upset about the deal too, then?" Dana shrugged.
"We had this meeting—just us brothers and sisters—about what happened with the land. My sister, Becky, thought Mom should be there. But I disagreed. Becky couldn't keep her big mouth shut though, and told Mom what I said. So we're sitting there at this meeting, and in the middle of it, Mom calls my cell phone and tells me I need to mind my own business."
"What was discussed at this meeting?"
"Daniel and Ann told us they'd been leasing to own the land for years. It was the first we'd ever heard about it. Although, Amy always used to say it was their land—or her dad's."
"She did?"
"Yeah."
"Dana, did Daniel tell you all what they paid?"
"Nope."
"Why do you think they left that out?"
"My guess is that they didn't pay full price. Otherwise, what does he have to hide?"
"That does seem shady. So I guess you're upset with your sister, then, too," Rory deduced. "For telling your mom what you said?"
"Yeah, you could say that. I haven't gone out of my way to talk to her."
"Are you and your family going to attend her wedding reception next week Tuesday?"
Dana shrugged again. "I haven't decided yet."
"All right. Oh, where were you Monday morning?"
"Here at work. The receptionist can tell you. You know, maybe you should be a cop," she commented.
"Oh, no. I could never keep up on the foot chases."
NNNNNNNNNNNNNN
Meanwhile, the detectives were upstairs. They stopped first at Roman's secretary's desk. Tristan held up his badge as he addressed the woman.
"How early do you get to work every morning?"
"Around seven thirty. It's a little early, but I answer the phones before the offices open."
"I see. And when does Roman Steinberg get to work?"
"Well, work officially starts at nine, but he usually arrives around eight."
"What about Monday morning?" Mark asked.
"Oh, well. . . Monday?" she hesitated.
"Yes, Monday."
"He actually got here around quarter till nine that morning."
"Forty-five minutes later than usual?"
"Yes."
"Did he say why he was late?"
"No."
"Could you show us to his office?"
The woman led them down a hall and stopped at the door that was requested. The two men went in and showed their badges to the man sitting behind his desk.
"Mr. Steinberg, can you tell us where you were Monday morning between eight and eight forty-five?" Mark asked. "Your secretary said you weren't at work yet."
"I don't have to be here until nine," he answered.
"But you usually arrive earlier. So where were you?"
The man hesitated. "I can't say."
"Mr. Steinberg, you're aware that your brother, Daniel, was killed Monday morning, correct?" Tristan asked.
"Yes, of course I know."
"And you're telling us that you weren't at work—even though you usually are—and you can't tell us why?"
"Yes."
"Well, how about this? We're going to arrest you, and maybe you'll be able to tell us where you were before we get down to the station," Tristan said as he moved to cuff the man and read him his Miranda rights.
Mark got on his phone to call for a police car to pick up their suspect. They led the man down the hall and into the elevator. When it opened on the floor below, Rory was standing on the other side of the door, waiting for a ride to the bottom floor.
"For the love of God," Mark complained, looking up at the ceiling.
"You can take the next one," Tristan said as Rory's mouth dropped open at the sight of the three men—one obviously in cuffs. "Mary. Poker face," he reprimanded sternly.
She sobered and started to lift her notepad.
Tristan saw and reached for it as the doors were closing. "I'll just hold on to this."
NNNNNNNNNNNNNN
"Hey, that's mine!" Rory exclaimed as she watched the elevator doors close in front of her. She looked over to the door leading to the stairs and decided she'd rather take action rather than stand around and wait for the elevator to get back up to the sixth floor. When she got to the bottom floor and exited the building, she was just in time to see the police car pull off from the curb and Tristan's Camaro pull off behind it.
She quickly hailed a taxi and gave the driver the address to the twenty-first precinct. When it got there, she jumped out and hurried up the steps. She rode the elevator to the third floor and hurried down the hall. She peered through the window in the door rather than barge in. Tristan wasn't at his desk. She glanced around the room and saw him standing with the captain. Both had their arms crossed as they concentrated at a window that looked into an interrogation room.
Rory assumed they were watching Stevenson question Roman Steinberg. Tristan must have felt her eyes on him, because he glanced over and caught her eye. Without uncrossing his arms, he held up his index finger to indicate to Rory to wait a minute. So she stood and tried to appear nonchalant until Tristan walked over to his desk five minutes later. She took the opportunity to go sit in the chair next to his desk.
"You have something that belongs to me."
"I do? What's that?"
"My notebook. You took it not too long ago. Why do you keep taking my things?" she asked in exasperation.
"Do you have something else you'd like to give me?" he asked suggestively.
"Why do I sometimes get the feeling that you want something that's been gone for years?" she asked him in impatient frustration.
"What's that? I don't think I heard that last part."
"You heard me just fine."
"No, I have selective hearing."
"What you always wanted is long gone," she stated clearly.
"There it is again. I see your mouth moving, but nothing is coming out," he said as he took the small notebook out of his jacket pocket and handed it over, looking her dead in the eye. "And for the record, you never figured out what I wanted." He stared at her a beat too long, making her momentarily uncomfortable.
However, she didn't yield. "Well?"
"Well what?"
"Why did you arrest Roman?"
"Because he was mad about the land thing and he doesn't have an alibi for Monday morning."
"None at all?"
Tristan shook his head. "Nope. And now he's not talking."
"Did he lawyer up?"
"No. I guess he knows he'll waive his Miranda rights once he starts talking."
"What made you consider him as a suspect?"
"I told you, someone told us to talk to him."
"Was it Amy? You talked to her yesterday. What was her alibi? Was she at work Monday morning?"
"She was still asleep at the time of the crime and she got to work at nine thirty."
"That's over an hour after her father was killed. How do you know she didn't do it?" Rory demanded. "Was someone with her?"
"No. But the security camera in her building shows her leaving at nine ten. That wouldn't give her enough time to go kill her dad and get to work on time."
"I thought security cameras weren't always good quality," she countered.
"This one was."
"Well, did you search her apartment?"
"Yes, we know how to do our job, thanks. There wasn't a murder weapon anywhere."
"A gun can be thrown in the river."
"Well, there wasn't any gunshot residue on the clothes she had on Monday. Ballistics checked it out yesterday. She couldn't have done it. You have traveled in this city during rush hour, haven't you? It's logistically impossible for her to have done it in that amount of time."
"Maybe she snuck out a fire escape earlier, where no security cameras were," Rory persisted. She wasn't even sure why she was still talking.
Mark had come back about the time Rory had started asking about Amy. He was now sitting at his desk, trying not to listen. But it was difficult. Rory was really getting worked up over this.
"Okay, but without any direct evidence, that case isn't very strong," Tristan argued, getting annoyed. "You were the first one to suggest the possibility of Daniel's siblings holding a grudge. So it looks like you might be right. What's the problem?"
"Amy had a motive. Her mother told me she had some credit card debt, so she could have used the money."
"Her brother didn't know the will had been changed and neither did she. And we're in America. Who doesn't have a little credit card debt?"
"I don't'."
"Well, neither do I. But it doesn't change the fact that when the recession hit, the patricide rate didn't increase. A little debt wasn't too much to get worried about. Is it nice up there?" he inquired. They were starting to make a scene.
"Up where?"
"Up on your high horse. Where you don't have to deal with the burden of proof."
"I think there's plenty proof. She was asleep? No one can even confirm her story with that excuse. And she had a motive."
"That's a weak motive."
"And a weak alibi."
"It's also just circumstantial evidence. The prosecutor won't be able to build much of a case from that. And he'll sure as hell let us know."
"What if she was ugly?" Rory spat. She almost instantly wished she hadn't said it, but it was out there now.
"What? What does that have to do with anything?"
"She's pretty, don't you think?"
He shrugged, looking confused. "I guess. So?"
"So, maybe you're convinced of her innocence because she's nice to look at."
"What?" he asked incredulously.
"I just think you cleared her name pretty quickly. I mean, she's probably just your type."
"And what do you think my type is?" He was moving beyond annoyed, now getting infuriated.
"You know, more generously endowed in physical appearance than mental capacity."
"Judgmental much?"
"Like you haven't made a snap judgment before," she accused angrily.
"When?"
"Oh, I don't know, I think you judged me the second you saw me."
"And I was right, too. So?"
"So, now if Little Miss Steinberg is off the hook, are you going to date her?"
"What?" he asked angrily. He was starting to see red. "I don't need this job to get dates. I happen to be a professional. Dating a suspect would be a pretty big conflict of interest, don't you think? What's the matter with you?"
"Nothing, I'm just making sure you're doing your job," she retorted.
"Excuse me, but I have a boss to tell me what to do and a prosecuting attorney not far behind. You are the last person I have to answer to. I'd get it through my pretty little head, if I were you. Because if you have a problem with the way I do things, then maybe you need to find a new source. Or better yet, you can just call up the department spokesperson andthen you won't have to deal with me at all. Stay in your lane, I know how to drive."
Mark was still watching from his desk. He was wondering just what it would take to get them both to shut up. He was getting tired of their bickering. Something seemed a lot more serious about it this time, too. And for some strange reason, Rory was playing the role of perpetrator today. He had an idea what their problem was. And a way they could solve it. Not that he'd be the one to suggest it.
Even though Rory and Tristan were a couple of the smartest people in the room, they were being incredibly stupid at the moment. Mark suddenly got an idea. It would definitely shut them up, but he was fairly certain he'd pay for it. He might be able to kill a few birds with one stone, though. It was worth a shot, he thought before he spoke up.
"Hey, do want to go to dinner with me?" he asked Rory.
She and Tristan both whipped their heads in his direction, caught off guard. "What?" they both snapped. It was a good thing Mark was looking at Rory expectantly. Because if looks could kill, then Tristan would have been responsible for Mark's sudden death.
"Dinner," he repeated. "Do you want to have some with me . . . tomorrow night? I feel like we got off on the wrong foot. I'd like to make a fresh start."
Rory glanced at Tristan briefly, who was still shooting his partner with a murderous look. "Sure," she answered. "I'd like that," she added in what sounded like a defiant tone.
"Great, tomorrow then, it's a date," Mark said before getting up and walking away. He'd leave them alone to work through their awkward moment.
Tristan snorted. "That must be a fucking record," he muttered down at his desk.
"What?" Rory demanded.
He looked back up at her with a scowl. "I said that must be a record. Five days in his acquaintance and you already got a date."
She thought briefly before responding. "No, I think the record was an offer to 'study' after about five minutes of being in the same room as me," she sneered. Tristan just scoffed and shook his head in disgust. "I'm leaving," Rory said angrily before getting up and stalking away.
"Finally," he retorted just as furiously.
NNNNNNNNNNNNNN
NNNNNNNNNNNNNN
Rory was in bed the next morning, coming out of a haze of sleep as her phone rang from her nightstand.
"Hello?" she answered groggily.
"Gilmore, has Steinberg's brother been charged with murder?" James asked on the other end without greeting.
"I don't know, he wasn't talking to the police after they took him into custody yesterday," she answered, starting to wake up a bit more.
"Well, you need to find out. Today. I want an update in tomorrow's paper."
"Fine," she answered before hanging up the phone.
A glance outside told her it was raining. She groaned a little, wanting to stay in her warm, dry bed longer. But she grudgingly got up and went to the kitchen to make a pot of coffee. While it brewed, she went back to her bedroom to get dressed.
After she was ready and had poured herself a cup of coffee, she sat on her couch in the living room and stared at her phone, which she had placed on the coffee table, no desire to pick it up. Partly out of anger, partly out of pride. She knew she was wrong in her accusations from the day before, but didn't want to admit to anything out loud.
She'd rather ask the A.D.A.—and would probably need to anyway, to get official confirmation. However, after dialing the attorney's office, his secretary explained how the prosecutor in question was making the rounds downstairs and would be out of his office for a large portion of the day.
"Great," Rory said unenthusiastically after she had hung up the phone. If there was any chance in talking to him, she'd have to go down there in person.
NNNNNNNNNNNNNN
A half an hour later, Rory was in the hallway that led to the detective's squad of the twenty-first precinct. She didn't even want to walk in. She didn't exactly feel welcome. She glanced through the window and couldn't control her eyes as they flashed over to Tristan and Mark's workspace. The A.D.A. was speaking with them. Tristan was sitting on the edge of his desk with his arms crossed and didn't look happy to be talking to the lawyer. Rory watched as he ran a hand through his short hair impatiently and said something to the man. His body language looked a bit hostile.
If it weren't for the well-fitted jeans he was wearing with a dark dress shirt that wasn't tucked in, she might think he'd stayed another night. He rolled his eyes up toward the ceiling and before he looked back at the prosecutor, he caught Rory's eye. She felt her cheeks warm from being caught watching him. He only looked at her long enough for her to see his eyes harden and turn icy. She hastily glanced away and decided to sit on a bench near the door.
Ten minutes later, Detectives DuGrey and Stevenson walked out of the precinct with their jackets on, moving towards the elevator. Tristan didn't give any indication that he'd seen Rory sitting there. Mark glanced at her and then at Tristan uncomfortably. Seeing his partner's cold demeanor, he decided he should at least acknowledge Rory.
"Hey, what's up?" he asked.
"Oh, I just have to find out if Roman's been charged with anything," she answered timidly. She glimpsed at Tristan, but he was standing in front of the elevator, staring at the doors with his arms crossed.
"Oh, well—," Mark started, but got cut off.
"She has to get it confirmed with Jacobs," Tristan said tonelessly, not addressing Rory directly and still staring at the elevator doors. "Let's not give him any other reason to be pissed at us today." The elevator doors opened then, and he stepped in.
"Uh, bye," Mark said awkwardly before joining his partner in the elevator.
Rory watched as they disappeared and wondered why she cared that Tristan hadn't even looked at her.
NNNNNNNNNNNNN
"You doing all right there, Sad Clown?" Mark asked Tristan as the elevator descended.
"I'm fantastic," he answered evenly, arms still crossed confrontationally.
"Really? Because I've had the sneaking suspicion all morning that you'd like nothing better than to beat me with the business end of a night stick."
"Well, I guess you're lucky I don't carry a night stick."
"No, just a gun," Mark said pleasantly. "This wouldn't have anything to do with dinner tonight, would it?"
"What dinner?" Tristan asked as they stepped off the elevator and exited the building, walking quickly in the direction of his car. Their heads were bent down to avoid getting wet.
"The dinner I'm supposed to have with your reporter friend this evening," Mark answered.
"I wouldn't call us friends."
"I wouldn't either. Mostly because you'd like to be more. Though I'm not exactly sure what."
"I already told you, I'm not going down that path. Not again. You know what they say, once bitten, twice shy."
"That's a nice saying. I've never considered you shy, though," Mark commented casually. "Listen, I don't know what happened a long time ago. And I don't really care to know, but it was a long time ago. Things could be different this time. Don't despair, Romeo."
Tristan scowled at him. "Don't call me that. Don't you know they died in the end?" he asked scornfully as they got in his car.
"I only went to lowly public schools all my life, but I was aware of that, actually."
"Well, she used to go to public school, too. So you'll have something to talk about during your romantic date."
"You need to calm the hell down. It's just one dinner. It's not that critical. I'll even talk you up, if you want."
"Don't do me any favors," Tristan answered. "I should be congratulating you. You found the one girl who has no interest in me what-so-ever."
"Do you even know why I asked her out in the first place?" Mark asked in mild frustration.
"Sure, she's smart and pretty and fun to be around. When she isn't driving me crazy."
"Yeah," Mark said, shaking his head at Tristan's ignorance. "How are you good at this job?" he muttered incredulously.
"You actually can do me one favor," Tristan said as he started the car. "Make sure I'm not around at the end of the movie."
"I don't think we're going to a movie tonight. What are you talking about?"
"You know, the end of the movie where the good guy gets the girl and it fades to black. I already had a front row seat to that one and don't feel like seeing it again."
"Are you seeing someone about all this pent up aggression you're carrying around?" Mark asked. If Tristan hadn't been so livid, it might be amusing. "Perhaps a shrink or someone? Maybe you need to look at some ink blots, or something."
"You know what? I don't want to talk about this any more. You're a grown-ass man. You can do whatever the hell you want, with whomever you want. And the same goes for her."
"We're both grown-ass men? I asked her out under the impression that she was a woman."
"You're hilarious," Tristan sneered derisively.
"No really, is that like half-man, half-mule? Kind of like a centaur?"
"Shut up," Tristan said firmly. And he meant it.
NNNNNNNNNNNNNN
Later that morning, Rory was concentrating on her computer screen in the newsroom. She was typing up her report when Marie sat down in the next desk. The woman put a brown paper bag down in front of her and opened it, peeking at its contents. Rory glanced down at the time in the corner of her computer screen and saw that it was lunch time. She had not planned on staying for lunch, but she was here, so she may as well take a short break. She switched windows on the screen so she could read a ten year old newspaper article from the Hartford Currant.
Marie looked over. "You don't have to work through lunch, you know."
"I know, I'm not."
"Then what are you doing?"
"Mmm . . . research," Rory answered vaguely.
Marie rolled her chair over to look at Rory's screen. "Who's that?" she asked in sincere interest, nodding at the picture included with the article.
"Just someone involved in the case."
"A suspect?"
"No. He's one of the detectives, my new source. Or he was, at least. He was transferred to the twenty-first precinct recently."
"That explains why he's been talking to you, he doesn't know any better. You aren't doing another one of those articles are you? You shouldn't be so suspicious of everyone."
"I'm not."
"Good. You know, I'd let him arrest me."
"Well, he's homicide. So I'm going to have to ask that you not kill me just to meet him. I'd like to believe it wouldn't be worth it," Rory said flatly.
"Of course I wouldn't. Besides, I need you around to introduce him to me."
"Why?" she asked suspiciously.
"Well, does he still look like that?"
"Basically. His hair is shorter, though. I guess you could say he's less boyish now. And he's been to Harvard since this picture."
"Then he's brainy, too."
"Yeah, he's . . . pretty smart, I guess. I've never considered him brainy, though. He isn't a nerd or anything."
"Well, yeah, he'd never pass as a cast member of The Big Bang Theory. So, I think it's obvious why I'd want you to introduce us."
Rory experienced a peculiar sense of unease at the idea, even if she was mad at him. "You don't want to date Tristan."
"Why not?"
"Well, give me a dictionary and I'll highlight a few adjectives to describe him."
"Attractive? Beautiful?"
"More like arrogant, bothersome, conceited, delusional, egotistical—," Rory listed alphabetically, getting worked up.
"You can tell all that after just a week?"
"We went to high school together for a little while. And no, we didn't date."
"Your loss. I still think his looks should make up for any character flaws."
"You've never met him."
"He isn't that bad, is he?"
"He's easy on the eyes, sure. But he's as impossible as ever."
"You've had more time to think about this. I see he is clearly your nemesis."
"I wouldn't say that. I assume he's grown up some since high school. It's difficult to tell, he's usually too busy making inappropriate remarks."
"So, it all works out. Since you're not interested, you should have no problem giving me his number."
"No," Rory said firmly, not liking the idea. Not that she cared. At all.
"Why not? You're not going to use it for anything fun."
"Just no."
NNNNNNNNNNNNNN
Rory was sitting at home a couple hours later. It was still fairly early, not time to get ready for her date yet. She was flipping through the channels on the television mindlessly when her phone rang.
"Hello?"
"Hey Rory, it's me," Paris said on the other end.
"Hi, what's up?"
"Have you seen Tristan more this week?"
"Unfortunately. Why?"
"I was wondering if you have his e-mail address."
"Why?"
"Well, we went to school for a long time before he got sent away. I thought it might be time we bury the hatchet. If I feel that he's sufficiently grown up, I might even invite him to the wedding."
Rory snorted. "Good luck with that. If you do invite him, make sure he's far away from me. Unless you want World War III to happen in the middle of your reception."
"I'd rather that not happen, actually. But I don't think that will be a problem, seeing as how you'll be at the head table, next to me. What's up?"
"Oh, nothing."
"It doesn't sound like nothing. What's going on?"
"I just . . . accused him of . . . something yesterday. He's not very happy about it."
"What was it?"
"I implied that he let off a pretty suspect so he could date her."
"Ah. Is that all?"
"Yeah, I think so. I mean, I'm going out with his partner tonight. But why would he care about that?"
"Gee, I don't know," Paris said ironically. "Maybe he's jealous."
"He is not. He's just mad about yesterday. You should have seen him today. I had to stop by the precinct and he didn't even speak to me. He barely looked at me."
"And how did that make you feel?" Paris asked, like she was Dr. Phil.
"Great. I mean, what do I care? I don't care," Rory insisted.
"All right then. It sounds like you have everything under control there. So, can I get that address?"
"Oh, yeah. It's tdugrey at nyc dot gov."
"Thanks. Sorry, but I have to go. My shift is going to start soon."
"You're welcome. I'll talk to you later."
"Bye."
Rory hung up and put the phone back down on the coffee table. She stared at the phone for a while. She felt an overwhelming desire to cancel the dinner date. But she'd accepted and it would be rude to cancel just a few hours before it was supposed to take place.
She really didn't care if Tristan didn't want to speak to her. It wasn't the first time in her life he'd ignored her. And she never cared before. He only talked in double entendres and euphemisms to annoy her, anyway. So what did it really matter? So what if he was attractive . . . okay, really attractive? Who cares if he was smart—and could even look it at times? She remembered the glasses he put on the day before. He definitely did look smart then. Something flopped again. What was with that?
Why had she accused him of wanting to date that girl? She remembered the hostile feeling she had toward that old woman at the mere mention of having a granddaughter their age. Is that why she accused him of letting the blonde woman off easy? Because that just made her sound . . . jealous. Jealous of what? Tristan? That would mean she might. . .
"No," Rory said out loud, in rejection of the unfinished thought. She shook her head back and forth vehemently. "No! No, no, no, no. No?" The last 'no' was more of a horrified question, rather than statement. "I'm an investigative journalist, for Pete's sake," she said, reprimanding herself. "I can think about this rationally."
She picked up a notebook from the coffee table, along with a pen. She drew a line down the middle and another along the top. She started to write something at the top of the paper, but her hand was shaking—just a little. She threw the notebook and pen down on the coffee table, as though she was repelled by it.
"Oh my God. This isn't happening," she groaned, flopping across the couch and burying her head in a pillow. Her cell phone started to ring again from the coffee table. "Hello?" she answered miserably.
"What's wrong with you?" Lorelai asked on the other end.
"Nothing, I've just had a rough—and weird—couple of days," Rory answered.
"Well, there isn't much normalcy in seeing dead bodies on a regular basis."
"True. How are you?"
"Good, but I'm bored."
"Ah, so that's why you called. For the free entertainment."
"Maybe. Luke and your brother are out in the wilderness, camping with the Boy Scouts," Lorelai explained.
"That doesn't sound remotely fun. But it is raining here," Rory said glumly. "Although, I guess it's good to know you still need me."
"I'm glad you feel that way. So, what are you doing?"
"Well, I should be getting ready to go out."
"To the club?"
"No. I have a date."
"You sound really excited about it," Lorelai said sardonically.
"Oh, yeah," Rory said and then sighed. "I don't know. I just didn't think this guy liked me very much. I don't really talk to him—at all. And he isn't a fan of journalists." Why did he ask her to dinner? She wondered to herself.
"Hmm. I can't really help you. Unless, of course, he was just intimidated by you. And because of your infinite greatness, he had to look past the reporter thing," Lorelai suggested.
"Maybe," Rory answered doubtfully. "It doesn't matter. It's just one dinner. I can tell him Monday that we should just be friends."
"Well, let him down easy. You're probably very hard to get over."
"Yeah, I'll be gentle," she said grimly.
"But if he ends up outside your window holding up a stereo over his head, take pictures for me."
"Sure thing. I should probably go. I need to get ready. Sorry if I didn't entertain you tonight."
"That's okay. Try to have fun on your date. Don't dress too provocatively if he isn't getting any."
"Thanks, that's good advice."
"That's what a mother is for."
"Bye, Mom."
"Bye."
Rory hung up and walked back to her bedroom to change her clothes for the evening.