A/N 1: Even though this fic is now AU, I'm even more excited about it than I ever was. To me, the closure of Season 10 freed up a lot of pent-up energy that has been caught up in angst at my end, over my fears about what they'd do with the finale. I've got 4 chapters written, and another 8 half-written, but when I put this fic down a few weeks ago (too much angst over the finale), I wasn't happy with any of it. I'm pleased to see, re-reading, how well some of the character development fits with the revelations of Season 10. This chapter is dedicated to leftyred, whose recent PM was a big inspiration to me! – Written July 2011

~.~.~.~.~

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN: SPECULATION

LVPD Interrogation Room 1 Las Vegas
12:30AM Tuesday morning

She was thinking about Bobby. Now that everything had gone pear-shaped, there seemed no reason not to.

Where was he right now? She prayed he wasn't on his way here, even while she longed to see him. She could picture him, shuffling in looking rumpled and fretful, clutching his folder bulging with statements and crime scene photos. He'd look at her with concern, lean in close (too close), ask her what happened. Wouldn't trust the paperwork he'd been given; he'd want to hear it in her own words. She'd stand against the bars, grasping them. Close enough that she could stretch out her fingers and brush the fabric of his suit jacket if she wanted to.

She'd want to. But she wouldn't.

She'd look down and away, hiding her face with her hair, and stammer out the truth. And then she'd look up and see surprise on his face. Shock. Censure. He was almost never surprised, and she hated it when he was, hated being the reason for it. It made her feel the way she felt when she was a kid and her parents were hurt or faced with a problem they couldn't solve. This should not be. It's not the way of the world.

Oh please, oh please, let him not come here. Let him not find out. Let me not disappoint him… She couldn't stand being the reason for that look.

o.o.o.o.o

Alex sat by herself in the same room where she'd been questioned 12 hours ago by the same three people who'd escorted her here tonight – the two detectives, and the ADA Judith Dreyfeus.

She was accustomed to spending time in an interview room not entirely sure where things were going, but she wasn't used to doing it alone. The two detectives who'd brought her in hadn't been at the hotel when she'd been taken into custody, but they'd questioned her before she'd been packed into a ghost car and whisked away. Aggressive and dismissive at the scene, Alex had thought rightly that they'd taken their tone from the ADA. When she'd been brought down for a formal interview (in this very room, was it only this morning? It seemed ages ago…), their manner had been different, and Alex was pretty sure it wasn't a play.

Which didn't mean anything, really. No matter how the detectives were feeling about her, they were focusing the investigation on her, that was clear.

Most murder cases were simple, and quickly solved. She had never forgotten that, despite working for over 10 years in the squad that tackled the exceptions to the rule.

While every second of time since discovering Nina Carruthers's body had been horrible, she had kept expecting the other shoe to drop… a break in the case, a clear suspect, compelling evidence pointing to the murderer.

She really hadn't expected to still be here at the end of a long day, still being looked at for the crime. Although she shouldn't have been surprised… the reason why most murders were so easily solved was because usually the motive and the perp were both clear… known not only to the vic, but also to their circle. Someone like, oh, an ex-girlfriend, who happened to have access to the vic in a very convenient setup. Someone like her.

But she'd still expected something to break.

Earlier, she'd had a long phone meeting with the lawyer Ross arranged for her, and had finally agreed to contact her family, although she'd downplayed the situation and implored them not to come out.

For the call, she'd been allowed to have her phone back, and even though she was still in a holding cell in what amounted to her jammies, the conversation had nevertheless made her feel human again. Both Ross and the lawyer had been outraged by the callous treatment she'd received, though all she'd told them was where she was being held. Both had called the precinct to complain (against her wishes), little good though it did.

It was the lawyer who'd finally managed to impress upon her the gravity of her predicament. He'd echoed her concerns about the ADA, and lamented the preponderance of circumstantial evidence implicating her.

"I know that you're supposed to not care, and I know you'll advise me to the best of your ability either way," Alex couldn't bring herself to say the word 'defend', "But I did NOT kill …Carruthers, and even though I know it looks bad, I guess I'm just – amazed – that it's gone this far. How could there not be anything pointing to the person who really did this?"

There was silence on the other end of the line, and Alex squirmed at the realisation that she cared whether or not he believed her. "Well, that's not really our concern right now. My aim is to get them to declare their intentions…"

"You mean to arrest me?" Right now, she was still just being held as a material witness. But they both knew that could change.

"Yes. We'll worry about an alternative theory once they've tipped their hands."

"Meaning once their time's up and they have to charge or release me?" Her lawyer hmm'd noncommittally. "I'm sorry, but I just can't think like that. I've been in the situation of chasing a bad lead, ending up pursuing an innocent person as if they were guilty… I can't help but think that the evidence is there… It always is."

"Well Detective Eames, you have no practical method of contributing to this investigation, so you might as well just worry about yourself. In fact, if you want my professional opinion, I recommend that you do so."

So that's where she was. In no position to make a practical contribution to the investigation. Outside the loop, she thought, smirking at the irony.

And yet, she couldn't take her lawyer's advice and focus on her own position.

In fact, she wasn't taking her lawyer's advice about much of anything. Earlier, when they'd spoken at length, he'd implored her in no uncertain terms to shut her trap and wait for the clock to run out. And to call him if they tried to question her again. But she couldn't shake the notion that she might learn something from an interview that might help her… she knew from long experience that few, if any, people were capable of conducting a prolonged interrogation while revealing nothing of their own position. Only the top detectives even came close. She'd worked with one for 9 years… no-one she'd met so far today measured up.

A less laudable reason why she didn't want to call him was simple shame; she didn't want him to be witness to her downfall. It actually made her wonder about the folks brought in for questioning; she knew that she and Bobby very seldom pushed the wrong person the wrong way… but in what way could a less-seasoned investigator, on purpose or by accident, take unfair advantage of a witness's unwillingness to air their dirty laundry in front of the help?

It wasn't as if she thought she was going to single-handedly solve the case from lockup, present the truth with a flourish, exonerating herself to a round of chagrined or admiring gasps and closing music – after all, when did that ever happen?

But she couldn't stop thinking like a cop. Or rather, after a few hours of being stalled, she'd regained the imperative to think like a cop.

If she thought she could help herself at all, or even just pass the time considering the elements of an investigation, she was critically hamstrung in several. She had no access to evidence, and she had no access to witnesses or their statements.

All she could work on was what she knew about the crime scene, about Nina and the other attendees at the conference, and hopefully draw some useful conclusions that she might be able to slip to the investigators in a way that they would accept.

She trolled her memories for anything from her previous experience of Carruthers that might be probative, but she really couldn't think of anything suspicious, out of character or even out of the ordinary about her brief interactions and observations of the victim from previous years. But as for this year, well, there was a lot of fertile ground to cover…

Alex wished she had a notebook on her.

She felt the change in air pressure as the door opened, but she didn't have the energy to look up.

~.~.~.~.~

A/N 2: I'm not happy with this chapter. In fact, I reserve the right to fix it later. But it, along with the several after it, has been complete for ages, and has been just waiting on my muse to sign off on it. I need to get this chapter up so that the next one, which I am way more happy with, can get posted.

Also, I want to say a big thank-you here to all my anon reviewers and the folks who've faved & alerted my fics & me, but who have the PM function turned off so I can't thank them! You are deeply appreciated, even though I can't tell you directly!

Even though I've made you wait so very long, please please review!

WORDS: 1689 UPLOADED Thursday, January 26, 2012

UPDATED Saturday, April 21, 2012