Sabrina hadn't really spent that much time with Detective Espinoza, but the ten-minute drive from the park to the precinct the other day was enough to convince her that he was a good person (She wasn't really up for much conversation then, so the man took it upon himself to fill the awkward silence with what he hoped were funny stories, and constant reminders that everything would be okay. Of course, the latter seemed to be more for his sake than hers, but the witch was glad to hear it all the same).

"What are you doing back here?" Dan frowned, sneaking a glance at her hands to see if she was cuffed again. "Don't tell me you get into more trouble."

(Alright, the detective knew that the teenager wasn't behind the incident at the park – he had a team of very confused lab techs who seemed to agree so – and for all intents and purposes, maybe she was just caught in the wrong place at the wrong time. Still, he couldn't shake the feeling that she wasn't as innocent as she let on, and that broke his heart the slightest bit, knowing that kids these days couldn't just be kids and they had to walk around dragging a hidden weight behind them. Just look at Trixie, for God's sake).

"What? No!" Sabrina sputtered, giving him a critical look (Satan, you get arrested once and everyone thinks you're some sort of delinquent). She stood on the tips of her toes and craned her neck behind him to take in more of the crowded precinct. "I just…I was just wondering if you could help me look for my father."

(There was something to be said at how she didn't just use the word 'dad' like every other teenager, but that seemed like a conversation for another time). Dan crossed his arms. "You think he's been arrested or something?"

The image of Lucifer in his well-pressed suit, harassing fellow inmates and whining behind bars entered the witch's mind, and she couldn't quite help the small smile that crossed her face. "Huh. I wish." She snorted. The detective looked faintly alarmed at her reply, but she was too busy scanning the place to notice. "But no, nothing like that. I was told he works here."

Dan was about to ask why a child would want their parent in jail, even as a passing joke (kids in happy homes would hardly even entertain the idea), but he dropped the thought entirely when he heard the rest of what she had to say.

He raised a brow. "At the LAPD?"

When Chloe told him that Sabrina's dad picked her up, he'd expected one of those burly, tatted up men who drank too much alcohol, or the polished CEO types who spent more time at the office than they did at their houses, or you know, just one of those guys whose kid seemed most likely to end up in a holding cell. Definitely not one of their own boys in blue who kept family photos in their wallets and always tried to get home in time for dinner. Dan, for one, was pretty friendly around the precinct (before all that corrupt cop notoriety, anyway), and he tried to remember all the other officers' kids whenever they brought them up in passing conversation. Now, he could be wrong, but he definitely would've recalled a pale, white-haired Sabrina wandering into the annual family picnics, sticking out like a sore thumb amidst the sea of tanned teenagers who just usually huddled in one corner with their drinks and overpriced phones.

Sabrina shrugged one shoulder. "Not full-time, I think. You know, he hasn't really explained it to me yet. All I've gotten so far are mixed messages from very emoji-heavy texts. I mean, for a grown man, you'd expect some sort of cohesive conversation, but apparently, even that's too much to ask for."

(Funny. There was only one person besides his nine-year-old who Dan knew used way too many emojis in text messages. Granted, said person also took the time and effort to use the alphabet every once in a while, but that was only ever to spell out the words DETECTIVE DOUCHE in big capital letters).

Dan shook his head. No, it had to be some sort of coincidence. That guy definitely didn't have any kids. Okay, maybe a couple dozen scattered across L.A. (you can't have that much sex without leaving behind a trail of illegitimate children), but none that he actually acknowledged in fear of cramping his solitary bachelor lifestyle.

"I'm probably wrong about this, and I hope to God that I am," the detective chuckled, bringing a hand up to scratch at his jaw. "But when you say father, you don't possibly mean-"

Just then, Sabrina caught the flash of a chrome flask being tipped back by a very tall, very loud individual chatting away in Queen's English, and it was hard to mistake him for anyone else (how many British day-drinking employees could one Los Angeles precinct have anyway?).

She waved Dan off with a distracted flick of the wrist. "Nevermind, I think I found him. Thanks anyway."

The teenager adjusted the strap of the red leather messenger bag on her shoulder and ran off in the general direction of the interrogation room, Dan caught off-guard when she suddenly brushed past him. For someone with such short legs, she was deceptively fast, but the detective still managed to catch up with her just when she was about to go for the large double doors.

"Hey, what do you think you're doing? You can't go in there!"

There was authority somewhere in his voice, and to his credit, it probably worked well enough with mild-mannered civilians and law-abiding citizens, though growingly-impatient antichrists generally didn't fall into the same category. The girl tried circling around him with a roll of her eyes (there was only one authority she answered to, and that was Sabrina Spellman), but the detective caught her gently by the crook of her arm and held her in place. "Seriously, kid, I'm not messing around."

(Now, she wasn't about to start lying to herself. If she really wanted to dodge Detective Espinoza, she could've easily knocked him out with a well-placed spell or just teleported into the room, all without breaking a sweat. But as things stood, using her powers in public was the exact reason she landed in LAPD custody in the first place, and she wasn't about to make her second arrest any easier by already being in their precinct.)

The witch yanked her arm free with a light groan, shooting her best Zelda-brand glare towards the man. He shifted uncomfortably under her gaze, and Sabrina couldn't quite deny the slight rush of satisfaction that came with the sight (still got it, Spellman).

"Look, detective. I'm not messing around, either. My father just sent me a very confusing text, and for all I know, he might be dying." The girl said matter-of-factly, though she very well knew that all chances of the devil even getting a papercut was virtually non-existent. Still, Hilda didn't raise a liar (not a bad one, at least), so she kept two fingers discreetly crossed behind her back all the while. "Now, I just saw him walk through these doors barely ten seconds ago, and you're telling me I can't even go in there and make sure he's okay? I mean, I skipped out on my therapist just to be here!"

Exaggerated conclusions? Casual therapy references? At that point, Dan was pretty sure he knew who her father was, and it should've been surprising, but it only ended up making a lot of sense the more he thought it through. She seemed relatively harmless (he liked to believe the precinct wouldn't spontaneously combust in flames within the next few minutes); still, the idea of another Morningstar left a bad taste in his mouth. He liked Amenadiel enough, sure, but man, that weird family didn't need any more expanding.

"Yeah, I don't think your dad's about to start dying anytime soon." He muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. ("Unfortunately," he almost added, but that seemed a bit much to say, even to the child of the most narcissistic jackass he'd ever met.)

"Come on, Detective Espinoza. Please?"

Beside him, Sabrina was really selling it with those puppy eyes, and it sort of reminded him of his own daughter (then again, Trixie only ever asked for chocolate cake, not demanded to talk to annoying police consultants who were currently in the middle of an active murder interrogation). Still, if this really was Morningstar's kid, she'd probably go ahead and do as she pleased, either way, so as he saw it, that only left him with one possible option.

"I'm gonna regret this, aren't I?" The detective sighed, running a hand down his face. His eyes flickered back up to Sabrina who was looking at him expectantly, somehow already knowing that she'd get her way (last time he checked, smugness wasn't supposed to be genetic). He exhaled sharply and shook his head. "Okay, fine. But first, you're gonna have to come with me."

"Is this your really sad way of telling me I'm being arrested again? 'Cos if it is, you did a much better job last time."

Dan rolled his eyes. "No." Sabrina watched curiously as he pushed open a door adjacent to the interrogation room. It was drab and unobtrusive enough that she hadn't noticed it before, but then again, so was everything else in that boring building. "You just have to trust me on this."

"So, Andrew Polanski…do you know why you're here?"

Their latest suspect, a man in his late forties with graying hair and an unnervingly calm smile, only leaned against his cold metal seat and stared back at Chloe. An APB on him had been put out for a while now, and either by dumb luck or some horrible misstep on Polanski's part, a couple of beat cops waved him down for speeding just when he was about to skip town earlier that day.

"Can't say that I do, detective," he clicked his tongue, far too amused for someone who's just been accused of first-degree murder. He played with his thumbs, held tightly together by a pair of freshly-slapped cuffs. "Care to enlighten me?"

One look at him and most officers could tell that he was the tricky kind. Charming, passive, borderline psychopathic, probably, if they actually had the resources to call in a mental health expert at the last minute to dissect his issues. Every dragged-on lecture and overpriced textbook at the Police Academy advised caution and well-chosen words when dealing with the exact sort.

It had to be noted, however, that Lucifer Morningstar attended no such Academy. (There were running bets around the precinct, in fact, on where he actually graduated. Chloe begrudgingly stood by Wharton. Dan's money was on some random party college upstate).

"Most certainly," Lucifer cut in, leaning forward and grinning widely towards the man before the detective could even think to answer. She only shook her head and let him be, already familiar with how most of their interrogation sessions went. She was pretty much resigned to the whole good cop – worse cop routine by now. "Slit necks? Box cutters? Pretty little club girls stuffed in the boot of a disgustingly outdated sedan? I mean, this must ring some bells, shouldn't it, Andy?"

Polanski glanced at him, unimpressed. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

"You know, with the staggering number of times I've heard that excuse in this room, one would think we'd have some sort of scoring system in place by now." The club owner said dryly.

"Lucifer," Chloe hissed from beside him. Her partner always seemed to have a general disregard of time, seeing as he apparently had a lot of it, but other people had better things to do with their day. Including, but not limited to, finally closing the Brenner case, and going on an off-the-books manhunt for an allegedly mass-murdering Massachusetts priest.

"What? It's bloody brilliant!" He retorted, looking wholly pleased with himself. "We can hang a little scoreboard by the door. Mark down every 'I don't know' and 'You've got the wrong guy' with one of those red pens." Lucifer had his scheming face on, the kind that suggested he was completely convinced he had a good idea, when in reality, it was almost always the exact opposite. "To make things somewhat interesting, the first to a hundred could even get, say, a piña colada."

At that point, the smile had been wiped clean off Polanski's face, and he was only frowning at the unnecessarily-enthusiastic police consultant, not quite sure if this was another one of their psychological warfare interrogation tactics. Across from him, Chloe sighed audibly and buried her face in her hands.

"You drive a hard bargain, detective. Very well. Two piña coladas."

"Lucifer," the woman ground out. "Focus."

Dan took a step back from the two-way mirror and looked at the teenager beside him. "What'd I tell you?" He jutted his chin out towards her father, the suspect all but forgotten as he argued the necessity of tropical cocktails. "Not dead."

Admittedly, it was against protocol. He could have just led her to a chair and asked her to sit and wait like everyone else. She might've pushed and prodded and made a scene befitting of the Morningstar name (Maybe then, the connection would've felt more tangible, more real, despite her uncharacteristically short stature and lack of expensive jewelry. God knew he never saw Lucifer without his ring, or Amenadiel without that odd-looking necklace), but she was in a police station. She would've had no other choice but to listen to the police.

Against better (and evidently, all) judgement, though, Dan somehow thought that bringing her to the observation room just on the other side of the two-way glass was the most logical choice. She said she wasn't familiar with her dad's job at the LAPD. What better way to introduce her than with front row seats right in the middle of all the action? (Well, not exactly the middle, per se. He could get fired for that. More like a safe distance away behind a wall of military-grade protective glass, but other than that, it was arguably the same thing.) Besides, it seemed like a much lesser evil than having her barge in while the adults (as much as Lucifer could be considered an adult, really) were grilling a soon-to-be convicted felon. It was a simple case of killing two birds with one stone.

Or so Dan thought.

Sabrina made a little humming noise, eyes still focused on the quickly-escalating scene in front of them. "Not yet, you mean. Detective Decker looks like she's about to strangle him the second they get out of there."

He turned his head at just the right moment to see Chloe stomping on her partner's leather-clad foot under the table. It was a gratifying sight, he had to admit. Maybe he should've sat in on these interrogations more often.

"Yeah." The detective shook his head. "Sometimes I wonder if the guy has any sense of self-preservation."

And yet he had a kid. Some unknown force in the universe actually thought it was a good idea to make this man (who, to Dan's knowledge, never even owned a houseplant or interacted with a pet for more than 6 hours) responsible for another human being. It would've sounded like a sick joke, had the living, breathing proof not been standing right next to him.

Sabrina, it had to be said, looked strikingly normal. There was not an inch of her that suggested she was the daughter of a multi-millionaire, or that she had a cocktail mix of attitude problems that usually followed around teenage children of the rich and arrogant. (Granted, she did manage to get arrested at sixteen, but since she'd been all but cleared of the charges, it didn't really count, did it?) Maybe her mom was just smart enough to keep her from that life.

Of course, now that brought up the question of who her mother actually was (a few hundred scantily-dressed candidates came to mind), but trying to unravel that thread just seemed like more trouble than it was worth. Where Lucifer was concerned, it could be any number of things, really, from an angry ex-wife to a careless one-night stand (gun to his head, though, Dan would most probably bet on the latter).

Whatever it was, Sabrina's parents obviously weren't together, and considering he was raising a child from a broken home himself, the detective knew better than to pry. It wasn't any of his business.

Back inside the interrogation room, things were somewhat getting back on track (as much as "on track" meant pulling whatever hypnosis-mojo-magic trick the club owner usually did), and from the corner of his eye, Dan saw Sabrina shift uneasily and step closer to the glass. Silently, he wondered if she recognized what Lucifer was about to do. (He sincerely hoped she didn't. Lucifer was tolerable at best and downright insufferable at worst, but Dan liked to believe he was decent enough not to pull that kind of crap on his kid).

"Correct me if I'm wrong, but you were about to run, weren't you, Andy?" Lucifer's lips pulled back into a shit-eating grin, sly and catlike in a way that still managed to be inviting. Effortless as it seemed, Dan knew every inch of it was calculating and dangerous, but for the life of him, he couldn't figure out why it felt like sin itself to look away. "The question is, where were you running to?"

Polanski met him dead in the eyes and it was a testament to how hardened he was that he didn't even flinch. "I wasn't running. I was on the way to work-"

"Yes, because people normally put their houses up for sale and bring packed suitcases with them when they go to the office."

"-when I got a call from a friend who needed help with some family emergency. That's why I was speeding." He shifted his gaze to Chloe and spread his hands out on the table, cuffs digging into his wrists in a way that should've been painful but didn't seem to bother him at the slightest. "His name's Stephen Wyatt. You can check my call history and everything, it's all there. He'll vouch for me."

"I'm sure Stephen has plenty to say, but unfortunately, this isn't about the speeding." The detective pulled out a photo from the case file and slid it to Polanski, tapping a finger against the glossy surface. "This is about murder. A double one, in fact. And unless your friend can explain why the victims were found in an abandoned car registered to you, it just seems a little too convenient that you'd be caught skipping town so soon."

Dan could see Andrew's jaw working as he stared at the photograph. It was damning stuff, for sure. He'd seen the photos when they were first brought in by forensics earlier that week, and though he'd witnessed worse things on the job, it didn't make the scene of two girls barely out of college, blood trailing down their throats and gracelessly shoved into the trunk of a car, any easier to stomach.

"Which brings us back to my question," Lucifer's voice was practically dripping with milk and honey when he spoke, and it was enough to wrench Polanski's gaze from the pictures and snap his eyes back up to the consultant. "You're obviously quite done with L.A. Already planning to drive off into the proverbial sunset somewhere else, even."

Andrew's withering look suggested that he thought very little of sunsets, and, probably even less so, of the club owner. Thankfully, he was the calm-before-the-storm type who voiced his displeasure with heated glares instead of scathing words, because the last person who interrupted Lucifer's little desire monologue before he could get to the point ended up crying all the way back to his holding cell, and Dan saw how Chloe nearly dug circles into the floor trying to explain that to the lieutenant.

"So tell me," Lucifer leaned closer. "What exactly are you chasing after? What do you desire that's no longer in Los Angeles?"

Dan watched Polanski pause, stiffen, fight that silent battle in his eyes that no one ever seemed to win. He almost felt sorry for the man, seeing his boundaries pushed and prodded with no more than a few seductively-said words, but he deserved it, didn't he? If he was really responsible for the death of those girls? "I…I'm not chasing after anything."

"Oh, come on." Lucifer scoffed. "What is it, really? L.A. run out of lovely young women to disfigure? Off to try your luck someplace new?"

Dan had all but forgotten that there was anyone else in the room when Sabrina suddenly spoke out of the blue, jolting him to his senses. "He's doing it wrong," she mumbled under her breath.

He frowned, turning to look at her. She seemed perfectly unfazed, just staring across the glass with a vaguely critical expression on her face as if she were watching a campy TV show instead of a real-life murder investigation. "I'm sorry?"

She sighed and spent another second eyeing both Polanski and her father before facing the detective. "He's doing it wrong," the teenager repeated. "He's not asking the right questions."

"And what would the right questions be?"

He wasn't Lucifer's biggest fan, not by a long shot, but even he had to admit that the guy got results, dubious as his methods might have been. You sure as hell didn't get the best closure rates in the precinct by doing it wrong.

Sabrina bit the inside of her lip tentatively, almost unsure if she should respond. She clearly had a lot to say but was holding back for some reason or another (which Dan found somewhat surprising, knowing that the Morningstars were never ones to hold their tongue). Eventually, though, she ended up deciding against it and just shook her head, turning back towards the two-way mirror. "You'll see," she said instead, plain and clipped and not at all ominous.

"Uh huh." Dan nodded tersely.

"Look, I just want to get out of here!" Polanski snapped, hands slamming down heavily. The metal of his cuffs came down hard against the metal of the table, creating a clashing, startling sound that made even Sabrina jump a few inches back. "Before I end up dead in a ditch. That's what I fucking want!"

It was an abrupt shift from his earlier demeanor, taking both the detective and the consultant by surprise. From the looks of it, Andrew had no idea where it came from either, immediately drawing back his hands and tugging on the collar of his shirt.

"Apologies, that was…uncalled for." He cleared his throat with all the air of someone who said something he wasn't supposed to say, suddenly hesitant, furtive. (Bastard was definitely hiding something). "If it's all the same to you, I think my lawyer should be present for the rest of this conversation."

"Now, hold on just a second-"

"Andrew, we can talk about this-"

Lucifer and Chloe's voices began to overlap as they grappled with a way to get to him, but Polanski quickly shut them down with a pointed look. "I know my rights, detectives. It's a counsel or nothing."

The two interrogators exchanged a cautious glance, and with how long Dan's worked with both of them, he could practically hear what they were thinking. (Chloe probably wanted to coax the suspect with a few more well-placed words and see where that would take them. Lucifer, if his somewhat questionable track record was any indication, was just planning to shove Polanski's head through a wall until he either talked or lost the ability to speak altogether).

Chloe exhaled sharply and narrowed her eyes at Andrew. "Fine." She pushed away from her seat, gathering up her paperwork and towering over the suspect in a move that should've intimidated him but only made him smirk in amusement. "We'll get you your attorney, then you're back in interrogation first thing in the afternoon."

Lucifer looked as if he were still contemplating the prospect of testing the floor's durability with Polanski's thick skull when the detective tugged on his arm and jerked her chin towards the door. "Come on, Lucifer. Let's go."

"But detective-"

She didn't have time for this. "Now."

As soon as Chloe managed to shepherd a begrudging Lucifer out of the room, Dan whipped his head towards Sabrina. She was still staring at Polanski, arms crossed and a contemplative look on her face. "You knew. You knew he wouldn't budge." He pressed, brows furrowed (Because she had been right, hadn't she? Sixteen years old and she already saw right through the whole damn thing). "How?"

She shrugged a shoulder as if it was all ridiculously simple. "You heard the man, detective. He's scared. People don't usually run unless they're being chased."

"Or he's the one doing the chasing."

The teenager turned her eyes on him, finally pulling her gaze from the suspect. Dan almost wished he hadn't said anything at all. (She wasn't just looking, she was scrutinizing, and he couldn't exactly say it was the most comfortable feeling).

"My father and I don't agree on many things, Detective Espinoza, but the one thing we can both count on is that it's very hard to lie to him. I think Polanski meant it when he said someone out there wants him dead. And that's not something you should take lightly. Chances are, you've got the wrong guy."

"That's a pretty bold accusation to make."

Sabrina started towards the door of the observation room, and for the second time that day, Dan found himself trying to keep up. (Jesus, what did Lucifer feed this kid?) She tipped her head at him as soon as they were out in the harsh fluorescent lights of the main precinct floor. "Maybe. But it makes sense, doesn't it?"

He could see where she was coming from, he guessed. Lucifer's little mojo thing often made people admit things they normally wouldn't say out loud, and based on Polanski's sudden outburst earlier, he was definitely no exception. Dan just couldn't imagine what was so damning about admitting he didn't want to end up dead in a ditch. Most people didn't want to, either, so why bother being so sketchy about it? In fact, if he did just go out on a killing spree, it was a given that a lot of angry families would have a target on his head. It didn't mean he was innocent.

"I don't know, kid." Dan scratched at the side of his neck, eyes on his feet as he made the tedious journey back to his desk. "It just doesn't add up. We're gonna have to do a little more-" The rest of his words fell through when he looked up and realized that the teenager was no longer walking beside him. "Sabrina?"

He stopped where he stood and looked around, expecting her to be a few steps behind him or maybe already at some desk or another, distracted by something bright and shiny like her dad always was. "Sabrina?"

A few meters away, he spotted the interrogation room door swinging closed. It should've been wide open by now, if the beat cops already went and escorted Andrew Polanski back to his holding cell. There was absolutely no reason for anyone to still be inside. Unless…

(His stomach filled with dread when he finally put two and two together and realized where the teenager went).

"Oh, you've got to be kidding me."

Dan didn't know he could run so fast, but in a matter of seconds, he was banging on the large double doors, twisting at the handles and pushing at the metal surface. "Sabrina! Goddamit, you better open this right now!"

"Or what? You're calling the police?" Her teasing voice came out muffled from the other side.

"This is not a joke! Do you know how much danger you're putting yourself in?"

God, he couldn't believe it. The teenager actually went ahead and locked herself in a room with a murder suspect, just because she thought he was innocent (You know what? He took it back. That girl was a Morningstar through and through, and he didn't know how he ever doubted it in the first place).

He kept pounding at the door even as he realized a crowd of officers and employees was beginning to form around him. (What the hell was she even planning to do in there? Just sit politely and ask the right questions like she'd said? Polanski was accused of taking down girls no more than a few years older than her. Even if the guy was cuffed, a short and skinny thing like her didn't stand a chance).

"Don't worry, detective. I'll try to make this quick. Just do me a favor and keep it down. It's kind of hard to concentrate with all the yelling."

He tried ramming down the doors with his shoulder, but they barely even budged (The stupid things held up exceptionally well for cheap building materials. God, it was as if they were magic or something). "No! Get the hell outta there!"

From the corner of his eye, he could see Chloe push through the sea of onlookers, Lucifer trailing closely behind. "Dan, what's going on?" His ex-wife prodded, frowning in the direction of the interrogation room. "Who's in there?"

He sighed and glanced between the two, finally leaning against the doorframe in defeat when his arm began to go numb. "Sabrina," he said pointedly, gaze landing on Lucifer.

The club owner stiffened for a moment or two and Dan could almost see the gears working in his head. The detective was getting hopeful, he had to admit. Maybe if the guy realized how much danger his daughter was in, he could burst into the room with his irrational strength and drag Sabrina out of there before she ended up doing something she would regret.

Lucifer, of course, had to go ahead and dash those hopes as soon as he opened his obnoxious mouth.

"Sabrina?" He scoffed. "Don't be ridiculous. Why on earth would she be here, of all places?"

"She said she was looking for you because you sent this text message-" Dan shook his head and threw his hands up. "Look, what does it even matter? She's locked herself in there with Polanski, who, in case you forgot, is accused of murdering two other girls! I don't know what's gotten into her, but don't you think you should at least try and stop her?"

Lucifer huffed in amusement, not at all the picture of a man who's just been told his kid was in danger. "Bold of you to assume I can actually tell my daughter what to do."

Dan stared at him, bewildered. "So that's it? You're just gonna…do absolutely nothing?"

"No, no, I'd like to see how this plays out, actually." He had that scheming glint in his eye again, and it did nothing to ease Dan's growing urge to call Child Protective Services on him (assuming he still had a child at the end of all this). Lucifer glanced at the pair of them with the same smug grin he seemed to have reserved for every damn occasion of his life. "This should be quite fun. If you'll excuse me…"

The club owner straightened his suit jacket and pushed past them, leaving Dan and Chloe to watch his retreating figure as he disappeared into the observation room to just…stand idly, apparently. Dan exchanged an alarmed look with the other detective, and the woman immediately started kicking at the door, pure parental instincts taking over. (Lucifer obviously didn't give two shits about his own kid, but they sure as hell wouldn't leave her to fend for herself).

Inside the room, a sharp yelp cut through the air and Dan felt his heart jump straight into his throat (Whatever happened in there, it was fault. Christ, he should have never dragged Sabrina into this). He whipped his head around and stared wildly at the officers gathered around them.

"Don't just stand there, someone get the fucking keys!"