Later that morning, Brenda sat across the desk from Provenza, trying to find a clear spot to rest her elbows among all the paperwork strewn across the surface.
"All I'm saying, is we have to consider the possibility that Masen might go back underground. Tao has been staring at that cell phone grid since we caught the case. If someone had been given this assignment after the bombing, they'd have been sitting there for two years." Provenza leaned back in his chair, plucking at lint on his cuff.
Sanchez interrupted Brenda's train of thought by opening the door, and informing her that the psychiatrist who'd done Masen's last eval was in an interview room. She gave a distracted smile to Provenza, and stood up, then paused as Sanchez stepped aside, revealing Delk.
"Mind if I join you?" He asked, cordially.
"Of course," Brenda sighed, grabbing the case notes. "Right this way."
They took their seats across from the psychiatrist, and Brenda slid her glasses up on to her nose, before beginning the interview. The more the doctor spoke, the tighter the knot in Brenda's stomach grew. Narcissistic Personality Disorder sound like a fancy way of saying 'sociopath', to her, but she figured the doctor must know his stuff. She felt her heart stutter as the doctor finished his assessment with the chilling statement, "He's convinced the system has been stacked against him, because he's white. He thinks that he's the top of the food chain. Best of the best. So, whatever you're thinking Masen might do? Think bigger."
Tao snagged her by the arm as she left the interview room, his glasses sitting crookedly on his face as he gestured to the paper in his hand.
"I just did an internet search, and as it turns out, the day of the bombing? Anniversary of the day the Affirmative Action bill was passed. " He smiled wanly.
"So Mr. Masen is a man with a gripe." Delk murmured, as Sanchez approached their tiny huddle.
"Chief, we got a hit on the casings." He held the folder aloft, coming to stand next to Tao. "14 years ago, Russell Owens took a shot at an intruder with his .45."
"And where's Mr. Owens now?" Brenda asked, peering at the ballistics report.
"Well, he was 71 years old then, Chief. We don't even know if he's still alive." Sanchez replied.
"If Owens collects social security," Flynn interrupted, "we could track where his checks are being delivered."
"Okay. Let's do that." Brenda said, turning back towards her office. She spotted Delk with a tiny blue phone up to his ear. "Excuse me, but who are you calling?"
"We have to let the FBI know about the casings." He answered stiffly.
"Ohh, the FBI is sleeping. And we haven't verified this. And you said yourself you didn't want to send them on a wild goose chase." She smiled sweetly.
Delk nodded, snapping the phone closed, then turned sharply, and headed back towards her office. Brenda glared at his back, then went in the opposite direction, hoping the vending area would be vacant. She really, really needed a Reese's Cup. As she slid the quarters into the machine, she pondered the details she'd learned about Masen. He was convinced that he'd been passed over due to his race, rather than his mental instability. That instability made him prone to inappropriate responses, especially to anger. His first attempt at revenge had been a huge bombing. So what was he up to now, she wondered, as she bit into the candy, letting it melt on her tongue, before chewing. What was the point of killing the paramedics? If that was the smaller detonation…what was the big one going to be, and how did it all tie in? She leaned against the cool glass with her eyes closed, as she finished the candy, and delicately licked the remaining chocolate from the tips.
"You should be careful who sees you doing that. It might fall under sexual harassment, and then I'd have to investigate you." Sharon grinned, leaning against the doorway.
Brenda's eyes flew open, as the warmth of Sharon's voice washed over her.
"Oh! I didn't…sexual harassment? Really?" Brenda traced her lip with her index finger, then teased it with her tongue, looking at Sharon through her lashes.
Sharon felt the tension coil just behind her navel, and she stalked closer to the younger woman, eyes narrowing.
"Mmm. I'd say so. Inappropriate sexual advances towards a co-worker. It's in section 43.b of Chapter Twel—" Sharon found herself silenced by a swift, but bruisingly sensual kiss, her hands automatically rising to hold onto Brenda's arms.
"Do you have the whole damn Code Book memorized?" Brenda said, stepping back from her impulsive embrace, as she glanced around to make sure they were still alone.
"It's my job to know. So yes, I do. All 6,572 rules that each member of the LAPD is to abide by. I've also memorized all 2,189 recommendations from the Civilian Review Board, and the Police Accountability Commission. And I know my times tables, up to 100." Sharon replied, slightly dazed from the taste of Brenda and chocolate and peanut butter on her tongue.
"I think my suspect is a white supremacist." Brenda mused, as she walked towards the Kitchenette. "He seems to think the LAFD passed on him because of Affirmative Action quotas."
"Well, as ridiculous as we know that is, if that's what he feels, then he's even more dangerous. He'll see all members of law enforcement as complicit in his rejection." Sharon fell into step beside Brenda.
"We might have a lead. I'm hoping my team gets him before anything else happens. He thinks he doesn't make mistakes, and so I'm hoping his ego lets him stay put until we can get there." Brenda reached for a mug, and poured some coffee into it. "You want a cup?" She asked, gesturing with the pot.
"No, thank you. I have water at my desk. I came looking for you to let you know that, because of the funeral for the fire fighters…"
"The announcement for Chief will be delayed. I know. Taylor accosted me this morning first thing. But it's much more pleasant, coming from you." Brenda smiled, and bumped Sharon's hip with hers.
"Did you just hip check Captain Raydor?" Will's nasal voice grated over Brenda's ears.
"Did I what?" She asked, turning to scowl at the Chief.
"You heard me. Look, I can put up with a lot from you. I DO put up with a lot from you. But you can't just do things like that." He sputtered, looking apologetically at Sharon.
"Chief, it's fine. Chief Johnson and I have come to an understanding, thanks to recent events. Right, Chief?" Sharon grinned, and shoved her hip back into Brenda's, slightly more enthusiastically.
Brenda's posture faltered, before she caught herself, and then she nodded. "Right. An understanding. That's true."
"Well. Okay then." Will furrowed his already oft-lined brow. "Uh, Captain. Have you given any more thought to what I asked you, the other week?"
Brenda leveled her gaze at Will, watching the slight pink tinge creeping over his cheeks, and travelling to his ears. That thing, was probably coffee. She shifted her coffee from one hand to the other, and settled her free hand on her side holster.
Sharon watched Brenda out of the corner of her eye, and stifled a chuckle when she watched those torturous fingers land on the worn snap.
"We'll have to discuss that some other time," She said, plucking the coffee cup from Brenda's hand, and walking towards the door. "I was just getting a coffee before I head back down to Hollywood." She smiled, then turned and caught Brenda's eye, nodding once. "Chief Johnson, Chief Pope, if you'll excuse me…"
Brenda watched her go, the swing in her hips so rhythmic, Brenda was pretty sure you could compose music to it. She sighed heavily, then turned around, fetching another mug, and filling it.
"I don't know what you're up to, Brenda, but I.A. is not a department we want to tangle with." Will reached over her head, grabbing a mug for himself. "Just, keep in mind that you're not the only one on this Squad, okay?"
Brenda rolled her eyes. "Okay, Will. That's fine." She chirped, pouring vanilla creamer into her cup, before turning to leave. "We just realized maybe we had more in common than we thought, both heading up divisions, and being in the minority, gender-wise. We're not tangling with I.A." She blushed a bit, as she thought of just how tangled up they'd been last night.
Just then, her phone rang, and she was saved any further conversation about Sharon, as Flynn informed her that Russell Owens had been found dead in his apartment. She took a swallow of the coffee, cringing, as she realized she'd forgotten the sugar.
"And you'll never guess who his attendant was." Flynn finished, pausing dramatically.
"Kevin Masen." Brenda answered, stirring the 4 teaspoons of sugar into the cup as quietly as possible.
"Kevin Masen, is right." Flynn confirmed. "He was here last night, according to the receptionist."
"Did you find him yet? Did you make an arrest?" She asked, tucking the phone between her ear and shoulder as she walked back to her desk, sitting down across from Delk.
"No, not yet. But we have a recent photo ID of him—oh, hold on a sec, Chief." There was some rustling, and then Provenza came on the line.
"Chief, we found a gun, a Colt .45, pretty sure it's the one used in the shooting."
She could hear Tao in the background, mumbling, and then the beep as Provenza put the phone on speaker, rather than translate for Tao.
"I found an anti-cholinergic. It's a bladder control med, that, when used in high doses, causes depressed respiration, dilated pupils, and increased heart rate." Tao fairly shouted at the phone, causing Brenda to cringe, holding it away from her ear a bit.
"So all the symptoms our mystery patient had." Brenda muttered. Delk looked up, questioningly.
"Right, and also, there are some oxygen tanks missing." Tao continued.
"Well wait, now. Is Kevin Masen there, or not?" She interrupted.
"Chief?" Gabriel took over the phone. "Kevin Masen, AKA Bob Gill, clocked out of work about 2 hours before we got here. But he also has access to a wheel-chair van, that's currently missing."
"All right, let's get everyone looking for that van. Run the plates, circulate his picture, I want him found."
"Yeah, Chief? The nurses want to know when we'll be done with this guy's body. Guess they're already thinking about the funeral." Sanchez bellowed into the phone.
"The funeral…" She looked up at Delk, her face going pale. "The memorial for the paramedics…when is it?"
"In about 4 hours, or so." He replied, looking concerned.
"That's it. That's the bigger event. He's going to bomb the memorial." Her voice was strained, hushed.
Delk looked nauseated. She barked a series of orders into her phone, giving her team explicit instructions, then snapped the phone shut, and looked across the desk, meeting eyes as anguished as her own.
"We can't let this happen."