Title: Just Like Anything
Disclaimer: I own nothing.
A/N: Sorry this one took longer. For anyone who doesn't know, I have a lot of scenes that take place between the mystery stories on my Live Journal. If you would like to know when I post there without checking in, I now have Twitter to use as a notification system. You can follow me at m_redhead.
"Sons have always a rebellious wish to be disillusioned by that which charmed their fathers." -Aldous Huxley
July 3, 2017
Rory stood in her walk-in closet and stared at her clothes in contemplation. She pulled out a skirt and held it up with a blouse to view the affect. Not caring for the combination, she put both back. Her cell phone started to ring and vibrate from the vanity out in the bedroom, so she went out to answer.
"Hello?" she said, taking a sip of her morning coffee.
"Luke is refusing to serve me," Lorelai said in greeting, the familiar sounds of the busy diner in the background. "I've only had the coffee I drank at home. I need your help."
"How am I supposed to help?"
"Give him the Rory eyes. He can't resist their mystical awe. You hold all the power."
"Mystical awe?"
"Childlike wonder?" Lorelai tried.
Rory protested, "My eyes cannot still look childlike."
"It's still worth a shot."
She sighed and shook her head. "Sorry, but I have other things on my to-do list today. And I already have my coffee. So you're going to have to figure this one out yourself." She took another sip of the hot beverage, glad no one was withholding it from her.
"Oh my god," Lorelai said, incredulously. "Luke just served Kirk coffee and walked right by me, like I'm invisible. You don't know what it's like," she complained. "You have a husband who loves you enough not to deny your one true happiness in life."
"You only get happiness from coffee?" Rory asked with knit brows. "I never realized your life was so sad. And I made coffee myself this morning. Tristan went to work early." Then she said, "Actually, I could use your help. What should I wear to court?"
"Did you get arrested again? I was really hoping that yacht was a onetime thing."
Ignoring her mother, Rory said, "He's testifying again today. And this time it'll be more than just stating his name and occupation. That part often goes without cross-examination."
"What do you usually wear when he testifies?"
"I don't go at all, unless it's for work. Giving testimony is just part of his job," Rory explained. "He doesn't come to the newsroom to hold my hand while I proofread—"
"And here I thought he loved you."
"—I'm taking the morning off just so I can go," she finished.
"Can't you say you're writing an article for work?"
"Ethical," Rory said dryly. "Kyle is back on this case. Other than the run-in with Tristan's dad, I have nothing to do with this one. And I shouldn't be. I'm closer to this one than his average case."
"Hey, that reminds me," Lorelai said. "Mom was talking about that guy the other night during dinner."
"What guy?"
"Tristan's dad, Harrison."
"Oh yeah?" Rory perched on the edge of the vanity and took another sip of coffee. "What did she say?"
"Apparently he's made the Hartford Gazette recently."
"For what?"
"A woman has been seen leaving his house several mornings when his wife and kids are out of town."
"Oh. So it's Page Six news, then?" Rory asked.
"That's the best kind. And Emily had the extra scoop. Rumor has it, last time he was in New York, there was someone staying with him in his fancy hotel."
"The Algonquin?"
"Yeah. Hey, how did you know?"
"I don't know," Rory said with a shrug her mother couldn't see. "It was just the first one to come to mind for some reason." She frowned and tried to remember where and when she'd heard it. Nothing jumped out at her.
"Oh, well anyway," Lorelai went on, "his wife called the hotel, and she got confirmation. He wasn't alone. No one knows if she's confronted him about it though."
"Uh-oh," Rory said, pondering for a moment. "Actually, Eileen saw this coming a while ago. But she isn't really one to talk. I think she's keeping company with someone who isn't her spouse too. She was meeting up with someone at the—." Rory gasped, her eyes wide.
"The what?"
"Uh, New York," she said hastily. "She was meeting someone who probably wasn't her husband."
Lorelai commented, "Classy people, your in-laws."
"Never a dull moment." Rory changed the subject back to the previous topic, "Tristan has been anxious about this for the longest time. When the case went to trial last week, it took them days to agree on jury members." She went on, "He wouldn't let the ADA keep anyone who reads the Daily News."
"Why not?"
"Because of me," she said indignantly. "Something about bias in favor of the police. He didn't come out and say it, but I think he meant me specifically."
"But you didn't write about this case."
"I know!"
"To be fair though, I think they prefer people who don't read any news at all." Lorelai said, "You know, you are completely jury duty proof. You'll never have to serve."
"Why not?"
"Think about it. You make the news."
"No, I observe and write about it."
Lorelai continued, "And you're married to a cop. No lawyer is going to trust you on their jury."
"But what if I want to do my civic duty?" Rory asked, frowning in disappointment.
"Too bad. They won't want you."
Rory stood up and returned to the closet. "Well, the jury members they kept don't have media and law enforcement connections, but Tristan still doesn't trust them." She continued her previous task of picking out an outfit.
"Why not?"
"He thinks they're too sympathetic of the defendant's sister." She shook her head. "He might as well be co-counsel and sit at the table with the ADA."
"Isn't he always like that?"
"It's worse this time. He's been coming up with questions for witnesses and he helped prep them." She picked out a grey skirt and white blouse. "So what outfit says supportive wife?"
"Normally I'd say something slutty, but that might not be the right answer this time."
NNNNNNN
From the first row of seats behind the prosecutor's table, Rory sat with Tristan and Mark later that morning. Having saved a seat for Kyle, he sat next to Rory.
Just then, the court clerk announced, "The State calls Detective Tristan DuGrey to the stand."
The judge had already questioned the relationship between the two men who shared a last name, and Harrison had quickly claimed the detective as his son. Although the judge hadn't looked approvingly at the prospect, he hadn't stopped the proceedings.
As Tristan got up and headed for the seat next to the judge, Harrison stood from his place at the defense table and addressed the judge, "Your Honor, my colleague, William Lannaman will be cross-examining the detective today."
The judge nodded. Tristan's brows furrowed as he looked from the associate attorney to his father.
Next to Rory, Mark tilted his head to whisper, "That's how he looked when his dad first showed up at the precinct."
"Upset?" she asked.
He nodded as he kept his eyes ahead of him.
After Tristan was sworn by the court clerk, Jacobs stood and rounded the table. He asked, "You searched Jack Rendell's home on May twenty-sixth, correct?"
Tristan tore his withering stare away from his father to instead focus on the question. "Yes," he answered. He shot a quick glance at the defense table and elaborated, "I executed a search warrant, which I got after two witnesses gave corroborating statements, placing Rendell at the scene."
"What did you find there?"
"Blood stains on his clothes, the ones he was wearing the night Michael Graff was killed. There were also glass shards stuck to his clothes—the same glass found at the crime scene."
"Whose blood was on the clothes?"
"Michael Graff's and Jack Rendell's," Tristan said. "When we questioned Rendell, he had cuts on his arms."
"And where did you find the clothes?"
"Outside in the trash," the detective answered. He quickly went on, "It was in a trash can directly behind the house, by the basement door. So there wasn't an issue of curtilage."
Rory saw Jacobs close his eyes momentarily. Warily, he asked, "Could you please explain to the jury what curtilage is?"
"The area around a building. It has to be close enough to be covered by the search warrant."
Rory's gaze drifted to the defense table, where her father-in-law watched, void of emotion. Occasionally he would write something down on a legal pad sitting in front of him after hearing his son's answers.
Jacobs continued until he was finished with his direct line of questioning, and then took his seat. Rory bit her thumb nail as William Lannaman stood from the defense table. Her heart started to beat faster in anticipation.
The lawyer approached Tristan, stopping at a respectable distance and asked, "Detective, you say the blood stains belong to the defendant and the victim. But whose fingerprints were on the lamp used to kill Michael Graff?"
"Jack Rendell's."
"Were his the only ones?"
"No," Tristan admitted. "There were prints belonging to a third person."
"You don't know whose?"
"No. But it was a store, so they could easily belong to a customer."
"Michael Graff ran a clean shop though, as witnesses have said. He has an assistant who regularly dusts all the merchandise. So isn't it possible, detective, there was a third person at the scene?" Lannaman asked, in a tone indicating how reasonable the idea was.
"Witnesses saw one person entering the store that night," Tristan said. "Jack Rendell."
"Yes or no, detective."
Reluctantly, Tristan answered, "Yes."
"How many entrances to the shop are there?"
"Two. One in the front and one in back."
Addressing the jury, Lannaman said, "The defendant has already stated the back door was open when he got there."
Tristan countered, "He also lied to the police about his whereabouts that night."
The lawyer went on, "With a third person's fingerprints on the murder weapon and a door out of view, there is reasonable doubt about the defendant's guilt." He nodded at the judge curtly. "No more questions."
As Tristan stepped down from the stand, he again glanced toward Harrison unhappily.
"Well, that was . . ." Rory trailed off.
"Anti-climactic," Mark finished for her.
Rory nodded as they made room for Tristan to sit between them.
NNNNNNN
"I don't understand," Tristan said later at lunch. Rory had taken him out for consolation, as though he was a child who'd just lost a soccer game. "I thought Dad was going to tear me down in front of everyone. Doesn't he think I can handle him?"
"I'm sure that's not it," Rory said. "It probably would have been a conflict of interest, don't you think?"
He shrugged slightly. "I guess. But what was the point then?" He'd spent a lot of his spare time before the trial going over his own testimony, ready for whatever Harrison would try. He looked up suddenly. "Did Mom say anything to you about it?"
She frowned. "When?"
"When you went to lunch with her—the same day Dad took my case back in May."
Rory shook her head. "No. She didn't seem to know anything about it. She was only interested in shopping and having a good time in the city. I had no idea they were both here until you told me about your dad. Why would she say anything about your dad's plans? You were the one who said they would never team up."
"I know. But maybe you were right," he said. "It's possibly they're so unhappy with me they set aside their differences to work together."
"Uh, you know, it's weird you admit they could be together," Rory said tentatively.
"Scheming together," he clarified.
"Right, scheming."
Tristan smiled a little. "I just tried to imagine them having a civil conversation, and I couldn't do it." He shook his head. "Even in my mind they end up in a huge screaming match. I wonder why the city didn't implode with them both here."
"They live in the same city," she reminded him. "Hartford hasn't imploded."
"It depends on which part of Hartford you're talking about."
"So, they're definitely not co-conspirators?" she concluded.
"Definitely not. This is all Harry." He added, "Don't call him that, by the way. Most people aren't allowed to."
Rory decided not to voice her suspicions about his parents. She was obviously over-thinking something that was only a coincidence. She continued to think, and then cautiously asked, "Are you disappointed?"
"By what?"
"Today, your cross-examination. You built it up a lot and came prepared to face him. Do you wish he would have tried to make you look incompetent so you could show him you aren't?"
A crease formed between Tristan's eyebrows. "Who would wish for that?"
"Someone who's been mad at his dad for a really long time."
"I didn't want him here at all," he said, still not answering.
"I know. But even though you didn't like the idea, you still expected it. Today was kind of a let-down, since it was so ordinary."
He shook his head and shrugged his indifference. "I don't care."
Rory didn't argue, and instead let her husband turn his attention to the window with his jaw clenched. She was pretty sure he was looking straight through the cars that passed by on the street.
A few minutes later, the waitress brought them their food. As she looked down at the plate in front of her, Rory said, "Oh, I do remember one weird thing your mom said when we had lunch."
"What?" Tristan asked as he handed her the ketchup.
"She thought I ate too much. She said one person couldn't possibly need that much food," Rory said indignantly. "She also said she could keep a secret if I had any odd cravings."
Nonplussed, Tristan commented, "You'll have to excuse her. She doesn't know odd for others is normal for you."
July 10, 2017
Harrison finished buttoning his dress shirt and reached to the dresser for a tie. Not liking his selection, he chose a different one. He turned to the mirror to put it on, but Eileen approached and stood between him and the mirror to tie it for him. When she slid the knot up to his neck, she lifted her gaze to meet his and raised a perfectly shaped brow to ask, "Too tight?"
"A little."
"Sorry," she said, loosening it to fit more comfortably. "I thought you liked that." He smirked. She adjusted her silk robe and returned to her place on the hotel bed. As she watched him continue to get ready, she asked, "Do you think you won?"
He shook his head slightly and shrugged. "I don't know. I didn't like the jury."
"When have you ever liked a jury?"
He thought for a moment and conceded, "Never."
Eileen picked up her cup of coffee from the nightstand and cradled it in her hands. "What was the point of all this?" she asked.
"You brought to my attention how unlikely it would be for Tristan to switch sides," he said. "That only leaves one option if I ever expect him to practice law. You're going to have to accept he wants to be a public servant."
"Don't call him a servant."
Harrison continued, "I just have to get him to do it."
"You didn't this time."
"He couldn't prosecute a case he investigated," he said wryly.
"Then what have you accomplished?"
He turned to her and shrugged. "I got his attention. And now I can give him my professional opinion. With any luck, it's going to piss him off."
She glared at him. "Why do you do that to my son, Harry?" she asked. "Do you provoke your Stepford wife's son? I bet you don't."
Harrison waved a dismissive hand. "I'm sticking to what works. But this time I'm going to do it on purpose." He added, "I wouldn't do it if I didn't think he could handle it."
"Well, what a compliment," she said sarcastically, taking a sip of her coffee. "What are you going to do next, now that you're finished here?"
"I'm not finished. But I have to get back to Hartford for the time being. I'm working on another homicide trial."
"Another?" she asked. "Why?"
"Because this isn't what I do. I need more practice. And I'm not an expert of forensics. I never will be, I have to have help." He sat on the end of the bed to put on his cuff links and said, "Are you having lunch with Rory again while you're in town?"
"No. She'll probably be at the courthouse today. Wives who love their husbands stand by them."
"Oh," he said. "I wouldn't have thought you knew anything about that." She narrowed her eyes at him slightly. "I assume you're doing some shopping then."
Evenly, she said, "You assume wrong."
"Really?" Harrison asked, surprised. "The spa?"
"No."
"What are your plans then?"
She gestured toward her bag which was sitting on the floor near the bed. "I'm going to read magazines and run up your room service bill."
"That's all?"
"Yes that's all. Why?"
"It's just uncharacteristic of you," he said. "You don't usually waste a visit to the city."
"I've seen the city."
Harrison bent over to put on his shoes. "Aren't you missing any committee meetings today?"
"Just the horticulture committee," she answered with a shrug. "I blew it off."
He got up and went over to a table that held a breakfast tray. "Since when do you care about plants?" he asked, pouring himself a cup of coffee.
"I don't. But it meets on Mondays. If I have to hear about my son's life from Emily Gilmore, then I'm at least going to be the first one to hear."
"Oh. So you made the trip to New York just to lounge around the hotel room?"
"No," she said edgily. "That isn't why I came, Harrison."
She used his whole name, he was in trouble. He shook it off, he couldn't get in trouble with his ex-wife. He decided to ignore her tone. She'd get over whatever she was suddenly upset about. She picked up her sunglasses and perched them on her nose. With a sharp flick of her finger, she pushed them up to the bridge so they were covering her eyes. She turned to face the window, her lips pursed.
"I'm leaving for Copenhagen in a few days," he informed her, changing the subject. "Maybe I'll send you a postcard."
"Don't bother, I've seen it." She muttered, "Just like I've seen New York."
He lifted his eyes to the ceiling. Against his better judgment, he asked, "Is there a problem?"
She turned back to face him. "Not at all. Go ahead and jet off to wherever you have to go next—just like you always do."
He put his cup down and crossed his arms. "Why are you hiding behind your sunglasses?" He should have seen this coming, they'd had their fair share of irrational arguments in the past. It'd taken them a few months, but they'd managed to return to their old ways.
She took the glasses off, so he could see she was glaring at him. "I am not hiding," she said, raising her chin. "I hope you enjoy yourself in Copenhagen."
"You do realize it's for business and not a vacation, don't you?"
"You aren't on vacation now, but you've managed to enjoy yourself—if I'm an accurate judge," she said. "Think about why that was."
It'd been the company, he thought with little consideration. He blinked. Did she want to go along on his business trip? She'd never gone with him when they were married. She had traveled to New York on her own though, he'd only provided the lodging information. If she wanted to get herself to Europe, he wasn't opposed. It wasn't as though she had any trouble occupying herself during the day.
Testing the waters, he slowly said, "The concierge will have a key waiting at the front desk."
Eileen picked up one of her magazines and started to flip through its glossy pages. In a decidedly friendlier tone, she said, "Copenhagen sounds lovely."
NNNNNNN
The cab Rory and Kyle were sharing stopped in front of the courthouse in downtown Manhattan. Kyle paid the cab driver and they both got out. Rory shielded her eyes from the sun so she could see the people on the steps. She found her husband with his partner, standing near a column at the top of the steps. She walked up to join them, Kyle at her heels.
After greeting them, Stevenson commented to Tristan, "Jacobs didn't use that witness we talked to—one of the shop keepers down the street."
"He was a bad witness," Tristan said.
"But he knew all about Graff's relationship with the Rendell's."
"He's also on parole and has a history of drug use. We got some information from him, which led to more evidence to get the charges to stick," he said. "But we decided not to use him on the witness stand."
"Who is 'we'?" Mark asked.
"Me and Jacobs." Tristan added, "It was just some preliminary trial stuff."
"Sure," Mark said, shoving his hands in his pockets and shifting his gaze out to all the people congregated on the courthouse steps. A few were eating their lunch, while others read. Some were there for the same reason as the detectives, waiting to hear the verdict of a trial.
As Rory looked out at the people, she saw Harrison DuGrey walking up the courthouse stairs. He gave the foursome a glance without a gesture of acknowledgement. When he had disappeared inside the courthouse, Mark turned back to Tristan to ask, "How's your scar doing?"
"What?"
Mark pointed to his forehead. "Your scar, I thought it might burn when your dad is near. You know—only one of you can live while the other survives."
Kyle laughed lightly in appreciation. "Harry Potter."
Glowering, Tristan said, "I got that. And don't call me Harry." He pulled out his phone and made a call. When he finished, he told them, "The judge is ready. Let's go."
Rory and Kyle followed the detectives inside and found seats together in the courtroom. Once situated, Kyle reminisced to his co-worker. "There was this one trial I was reporting on," he started, "and in the middle, DuGrey sauntered into the courtroom like he owned the place and went right up to the prosecutor with some incriminating evidence he'd just found. They had to take a recess, but in the end, it helped win the case."
"Theatrical," she commented.
Kyle shook his head. "It was awesome."
Rory tilted her head toward her husband's. "I don't want to freak you out or anything, but Kyle might have a poster of you in his bedroom. Right next to the Flash."
"As long as he doesn't kiss it at night," Tristan said.
The bailiff entered with the judge then. "All rise."
Collectively, everyone in the courtroom followed the order. After the judge took his place, everyone sat back down. "Has the jury reached a verdict?" he asked.
From her seat next to Tristan, Rory anxiously intertwined her fingers with his. With their palms pressed together, she rested her hands on her lap. The foreman stood to tell the judge, "After much deliberation, we could not agree on a verdict."
Tristan released a breath, and his head fell to the side. With her free hand, Rory rubbed his arm. Jacobs voiced his plans to seek a new trial. They sat through the rest of the proceedings until it was time to stand again as the judge got down from the bench.
As Kyle scribbled into his notebook, he glanced at the prosecutor and told Rory, "He isn't going anywhere. I need to get a quote from your father-in-law before he gets away."
"Good luck," Rory told him as he departed.
As the courtroom emptied around them, she remained with the disappointed detectives. When Jacobs turned to face them, he consolingly told Tristan, "We didn't prove Rendell did it, but your dad didn't find enough reasonable doubt, either."
"That's because this isn't what he does," Tristan said.
Jacobs' brows moved closer together. "What?"
"Homicide trials aren't what he does for a living. If it were, he would have persuaded the jury."
The lawyer crossed his arms. "I've gone up against a lot of defense attorneys, and he wasn't tougher than any of the others."
With a scowl, Tristan argued, "He's much better than other lawyers. He spends hours on litigation and always knows what legal precedence will work best before he even looks it up."
"I'm calling BS on that second one."
Mark inclined his head so only Rory could hear, "I feel like we're on a playground. Except Jacobs should list some ways his dad is better."
Dryly, Jacobs asked, "Don't you want to mention something about attending Yale? I'm sure his class rank was impressive."
Tristan shook his head a little before turning to go. The other three watched him exit the courtroom. Rory hung back, giving him a minute alone.
Jacobs unfolded his arms and turned to collect the paperwork from his table. He shook his head and commented, "That has to be the weirdest hero-worship I've ever seen."
NNNNNNN
Tristan walked away from the courtroom and was headed outside, when a familiar voice called his name. He turned in time to see his father walk away from the last reporter—Kyle—and approach him.
Once upon a time, he had cared about his father's acceptance and approval. He hadn't known he'd wanted it until it was denied. But at this moment, he didn't care. He knew his father wouldn't be happy with any of his decisions. It was his own life, and Harrison hated that. Tristan only wanted to know why he came to New York for a run of the mill trial. He wanted to know why he passed on a perfectly good opportunity to embarrass him, especially given how much the proud man was embarrassed by Tristan.
"What?" he said when his father reached him, his demeanor foreboding. The older man wasn't as tall as his son, he hadn't been in years. Tristan took small pleasure in having to look down to meet Harrison's eyes.
"I was wrong. I'm sorry."
Tristan had never known Harrison to apologize for anything. Suspiciously, he asked, "Wrong about what?"
"You," his father answered. "You're an efficient investigator and you handle yourself well in front of a judge and jury. You're obviously better suited for that side of the witness stand."
Tristan's eyes narrowed. "What?"
"I should have just trusted you to know what you are—or not—capable of." Without another word, Harrison walked away, heading for the exit Tristan had been seeking.