Four

"I can only imagine how upsetting you must feel," Sue Clearwater softly said to her daughter while cutting a piece of her world famous and unquestionably delicious blueberry pancakes.

It was Sunday, two days after Leah had discovered her husband in bed with her cousin. It was Sunday, a day that was supposed to be reserved for pleasant brunches; it was a time for mother and daughter to enjoy each other's company over homecooked meals and relax. Not discuss the dumpster fire that was now Leah's marriage.

"And I know all you want to do is… burn everything to the ground, but marriage is a commitment. It's not something one can take lightly. It's serious. It's consuming in more ways than one. From beginning to end. I know you're hurting, but before you…"

"It's a monogamous commitment," Leah retorted, instantly regretting her words. Sue didn't deserve to be the receiving end of her ire, but the whole situation was so damn frustrating. So damn infuriating. For almost eight years, Leah faithfully abided by her vows; she couldn't understand why Sam couldn't hold up his end of the bargain.

Thankfully, Sue didn't take Leah's harsh tone to heart. "Yes," she replied in a calm voice, taking a bite of her food. She washed it down with tea. "But it's up to you to decide if you're willing to work things out… We've all made mistakes. Most of which are fixable."

"But he – " Leah snapped her mouth closed. She didn't tell her mother the whole story; she never mentioned Emily. She planned to. But not now. Soon. Eventually, just not now. "I don't know what I want," she eventually confessed, feeling like a complete fool. The answer was obvious and yet, she couldn't bring herself to give one. "Sometimes, I just want to…" She closed her eyes. "I don't know."

Leah opened them again when she felt her mother's comforting hand over hers.

"It's tough," Sue said, squeezing her daughter's hand. She seemed at a loss for words for a few seconds, but then with a clap, "You know what I think would help? Marriage counseling. See a professional and see if you both can work it out." She shrugged. "See if it's worth the hassle."

Leah took a sip of her tea to hide her grimace.

Marriage counseling.

She knew her mother meant well, and it wasn't like the older woman was entirely wrong, but marriage counseling? No, the chances that Leah could muster the energy to "work things out" with her husband were virtually nonexistent.

It was Emily, for goodness' sake.

Not some other random woman, but Emily.

There was no getting past that.

Leah pressed her lips into a thin line as her mind replayed that December conversation in a continuous loop. Her thoughts were eventually interrupted by the loud whistling from the teapot heating up on the top of the stove.

Sam hadn't come home again. Leah was starting to wonder if the man would ever return. Granted, she had a history of kicking him out, but as he had said during their last argument, he also lived here.

Not the time to worry about that, Leah told herself as she rose from the small kitchen table and approached the stove. She poured herself a much-needed cup of tea before checking the time on her watch. She had thirteen minutes to spare before she had to leave for work.

She glanced at her phone's locked screen – Wednesday, January 24, 2018.

With a sigh, she returned to her tea.

She couldn't spend the rest of her free time worrying about something she couldn't fix.

The next person on Detectives Uley's and Black's interview list was Wes Lipman, the owner of Lakeview's Lipman and Sons Diner and Jessica Stanley's employer.

The visit was unannounced and certainly not appreciated if one would judge the look of horror on the owner's face when he caught sight of the detectives, both with their badges in full view, speaking with the hostess. The newcomers were requesting a chat with him.

He didn't want to speak to the police.

Though, to be fair, not many people did.

After Jacob and Leah explained the purpose of their visit, Lipman's nerves were somewhat calmed. Once more assurances were made, he offered to take the conversation to his office in the back of the restaurant, rather than around his already-curious customers.

Despite his ever-present apprehension, Lipman was willing to cooperate. He had nothing to hide, he told the detectives confidently, but not to the level of arrogance. "The only things I've ever killed were bugs and vermin," he announced. "Nothing more."

Unfortunately for Lipman, the detectives couldn't simply take his word for it. However, to his credit, he didn't hide from the probing questions about his diner and his employees.

"What did Jessica do around here?"

Lipman fished for a pack of gum. He made an offer to the detectives, which was respectfully declined. "She was a waitress," he told Leah. He stopped to toss a piece into his mouth. "At times, when the staffing was low, the occasional hostess."

"For how long?

"How long did she work here?" Lipman said between chews. "Two years."

"And her work schedule?"

"Monday through Friday. Usually mornings, but the hours can change by the week. Never on Saturdays. Sometimes on Sundays."

"Pretty flexible schedule, huh?" Jacob remarked.

"She's been here for a while," Lipman said. "Seniority."

"Was she scheduled to work on Mondays?" Leah asked.

"Not always."

"Did she work on January 15th?"

"That Monday?" Lipman pondered for a moment. "Yeah, she worked the morning shift. She originally had requested that very day off because of her birthday plans, but then decided to cover for Lauren. Lauren's another one of my waitresses."

"When did the schedule change?"

"Around New Year's. Lauren wanted some time off to travel to LA in mid-January. I was concerned about coverage, but then Jessica offered to take Lauren's shift. It was unexpected, but I wasn't going to turn down the offer."

Maybe it was nothing, but Leah still made note of the diner owner's comment.

"I see."

Lipman took a deep breath. "It's such a ..." He shook his head. "I was going to talk to her about a promotion. The next day. That Tuesday."

Leah cocked her head while Jacob sat up straight in his seat. "A promotion?"

"Yeah, to become a shift manager," Lipman said. "We had a job opening, and she wanted to move on up, add something more substantial to her resumé." He paused. "She was a good girl. Hard worker. Always on time. Seldom called out. Never got any complaints from me, the staff, or the customers."

"Great employee," Jacob remarked.

Lipman nodded. "Sure was. I wouldn't have considered her for the position of SM, if she weren't."

"Fair enough," Jacob said. "I know you were only her boss, but would you happen to have any insight into her personal life?"

"She wasn't married. Didn't have any kids. Not much family either. I remember her mentioning something about a relative out West, but that's about it." Lipman's shoulders dropped. "Her parents died some time back."

"Yes, we've been told," Leah said. "Was she particularly close with anyone on staff?"

"She lived with Lauren," and then, "She got along with everyone."

"Any unruly customers?"

"No."

"Do you know anyone who would want to hurt Jessica?"

"I honestly can't come up with a name," Lipman said, apologetic. "As I said: she got along with everyone. Always had a smile on her face, always had a positive attitude."

"Was she particularly friendly with any of the customers?" Jacob asked.

"She was always friendly with everyone," Lipman said with a shrug, but then, "Actually, there was this one young man. He had a thick accent. Eastern European, maybe Russian? He would come around on Thursday mornings, 7:00 am on the dot. Always ordered the same thing: a black coffee he never drank. Always looked for Jessica."

Lipman blew and popped a bubble; it wasn't out of boredom. He was nervous, uncomfortable even. "I try not to butt into my employees' personal business, but I think he might've been a significant other."

"A name?"

"No, sorry."

"Description?"

"White. Pale. Like he's never stopped out into the sun before. Tall with short brown hair. Caesar cut. Very light eyes. Hazel, maybe? People may consider him as good-looking."

"When did he start dining here?"

"I wouldn't call it dining." Lipman spat his used gum into a piece of tissue and reached for a second piece. "Uh, maybe a few months ago? After Halloween."

"And when did you see him last?"

"I haven't seen him in a while, actually," Lipman said. "Maybe a little after New Year's?" His eyes widened. "You don't think…"

"Only inquiring," Leah stated, tone revealing nothing. "How did Jessica and this guy behave around each other?"

"Like they had a history."

"Looks like we have our main suspect," Jacob declared as he and Leah walked out of the restaurant about half an hour later. "A white male, maybe in his twenties with short brown hair."

"Quite the description, Detective," Leah said in jest. Not because of Jacob's words, but because of the rather useless description. "Oh, don't forget: he had a Russian accent. Maybe."

"Ah, yes, cannot forget," Jacob laughed, finding the lack of concrete information more humorous than Leah. After some thought, she figured she could find the humor in the situation; they were assigned to the hottest homicide in Chicago, and they barely had anything.

"Something will come up," Jacob promised, and then once the laughter died down, "It has to."

With a sigh, Leah opened the passenger door to the car and stepped inside.

"Please tell me you were able to find something, anything, that could bring us one step closer to solving the Dahlia case."

The detectives looked at each other, both silently debating who would be the brave one to answer their captain, who looked like he had a grand total of twenty hours of sleep during the past week and a half.

Leah knew Captain Morris was receiving immense pressure from the higher powers. The news cycle was still saturated with the Dahlia story, and the Deputy Superintendent's public promise to bring the killer to justice by the end of next month certainly did not help matters.

She didn't know what the captain was expecting. It had only been nine days, and the cause of the Dahlia's death still hadn't been officially determined. No suspects (except for an unknown brown-haired possible Russian, whom no one knew much about). No clear motive. Only that the Dahlia might have hung around the wrong crowd.

Jacob decided to take one for the team.

"We have reasons to believe that Jessica Stanley was involved with the Olympic."

The look on Captain Morris' face was one of surprise and perhaps hope that Jacob's belief was nothing more than speculation. "Based on what exactly?"

"We discovered the distinct marking representing an Olympic affiliation inside Jessica's wrist," Leah said. She handed the captain a photo of said-marking. "That particular tattoo, its placement is generally reserved for prospects. Those working to become an official member or associate of the gang."

"Prospects?"

"Those wishing to have an official affiliation with the Olympic."

"Uh huh." Morris studied the small page for a moment. He didn't appear too impressed. "Your only evidence is a… tattoo?"

"I'd say it's more like a brand."

"We also got testimony from her roommate and friends," Jacob quickly added. "According to them, she was only working as a part-time waitress, but when we checked her apartment – "

At the raise of the captain's eyebrow, Leah quickly interjected, "We had a chat with her roommate, who was fully cooperative the entire time; she even showed us Jessica's room at her insistence."

"We were able to inspect Jessica's closest, which was opened before we arrived," Jacob said as Leah handed over more photos to Morris. "Her closet was full of designer items. We're talking about a salary or two worth of stuff."

The captain's eyebrow raised even higher.

"We were also presented with a jewelry box," Leah added, sitting back down. "According to Jessica's roommate, the box contains an impressive piece of jewelry. It was locked, so we couldn't verify its authenticity."

Morris looked at another photo, squinting his eyes as he held it up to the ceiling. "Trust fund?" he asked, letting the photo fall from his hand and onto his desk. "Did she happen to have a trust fund? Hit the lotto?"

"We don't have any reason to believe that she did," Leah said. "Her bank accounts didn't have much, and her schooling was almost entirely funded by loans."

"What about her family?"

"She's an only child from a blue-collar background," Jacob said. "Her family's originally from a small town in Oregon; they moved into this area in the early 2000s. Father was an engineer for Amtrak, and the mother worked at a department store. Both parents died in a car wreck back in 2013. The closest relative we've across is an uncle, and he's… Let's just say: I doubt he's been funding Jessica's lifestyle."

Morris accepted Jacob's assessment.

"We would like another search warrant," Leah said with Jacob nodding in agreement. "Particularly one focusing on Jessica's valuables. We would like to get access to the jewelry box and further our search into Jessica's closet and dresser."

Morris folded his hands over the photos splayed across his desk. "I suppose you would want one," he said; he didn't sound completely convinced, but thankfully seemed to be going along with… whatever the detectives had. "Look into the uncle. See if you can talk to him."

Not the easiest of tasks, considering that said-uncle was reportedly living off the grid somewhere out in the Idaho wilderness. But, "Will do, Captain," Jacob promised.

"And the warrant?" Leah asked.

They desperately needed one.

"It's the end of the day, but I'm confident you'll have something in the morning."

Leah hummed to a cheery tune as she walked through Jessica Stanley's and Lauren Mallory's apartment. In one hand was a pair of latex gloves, and in the other was a search warrant, graciously granted by the judge earlier that morning.

She had a good feeling about this.

Jacob wasn't with her. Unfortunately, he had a previously scheduled physical and therefore, would likely be out of commission until the afternoon. It was fine though; Leah fully intended, as she should, to keep her partner abreast of anything new.

She did wish Jacob was here, but at least, she wasn't doing the work alone. Morris had assigned a few members of the Violent Crimes team to assist with the execution of the warrant. A warrant that thankfully didn't get any pushback from the only occupant of the condo. Lauren, who clearly wanted nothing more than to stay out of the cops' way, remained in the living room, being as cooperative as ever.

While Jessica's side of the bedroom was being turned upside down, Leah made a beeline to the victim's dresser. She retrieved the wooden jewelry box from the top drawer and quickly broke the lock with a bolt cutter.

What she saw inside took her breath away. Displayed in front of her was a necklace, laced with diamonds and a large ruby-colored pendant crusted with more diamonds.

Leah carefully closed the lid and placed the box on top of the dresser before turning around and calling out, "Greene!"

Detective Greene was assigned to the Forfeiture Unit, but he had agreed to do Leah a favor by offering his expertise on jewelry. He used to work in the business and was a complete nerd when it came to precious gems.

"What do you have for me?" he asked moments later, pulling on a pair of gloves. When Leah presented him with the newest finding, his blue eyes grew exponentially wide. "Wow," he breathed, "won't you look at that…"

"Please, tell me this is costume jewelry." Leah wanted the piece to be fake for purely selfish reasons. "The less paperwork I have to do, the better my life will be."

"But wouldn't that make the investigation boring?"

"I assure you there's nothing that can possibly make this investigation boring," Leah said. "So, costume?"

"May I?" When Leah gave him the affirmative, Greene carefully lifted the necklace and held it up to the light before examining it with the necessary inspection tools. Sometime later, as he carefully returned the jewelry to its rightful place, Green said, "From the naked eye, I'm afraid not. You may want to get this appraised. I can't go into specifics without the necessary tools, but I can tell you we're not dealing with cubic zirconia."

Leah pinched the bridge of her nose.

"Wow, if my pops were here, he'd faint at this sight of this," Greene carried on, still amazed at the sight before him. "Have you ever heard of the Hope Diamond? It's arguably the most expensive piece of jewelry in the world. Did you know the dark blue stone in the pendant is in fact a diamond?"

Leah dropped her hand to the side. "This isn't the Hope Diamond, though."

"No, it appears to be a replica. The only difference is that instead of a 45-carat blue diamond as a pendant, it's a 45-carat red diamond. Possibly. Quite impressive work, I have to say."

"At a glance, what would be the worth?"

"Well, one carat of red diamond costs around one million. With all of the surrounding white diamonds, and the unique craftwork… Maybe around one-twenty-five? And this is me low-balling it. Of course, as I said, you'd want to check with an appraiser."

Leah closed her eyes for a moment. One hundred and twenty-five million bucks. She then opened her eyes and motioned for another cop to hand her an evidence bag. "Wonderful," she remarked before muttering her gratitude to her coworker. She looked up at Greene, who just shrugged. "Just wonderful."

"This isn't something I'd keep inside my dresser, that's for sure," Greene said, focus zeroing on the box. "Only locked with a padlock?" He shook his head with disappointment. "Hell, I wouldn't even keep this in a safe at home. That needs to be secured. I'm talking Las Vegas-casino-vault secured. I wonder how the victim got her hands on a piece like this?"

"Don't we all."

Leah picked up the box, and with Greene's help, carefully placed the prize inside the large evidence bag.

According to a trusted appraiser, the necklace was very much authentic, possibly crafted during the mid-Eighteenth century, with a net worth of 159 million dollars.

With no owner to speak of.

Just absolutely wonderful.

"One hundred and fifty-nine million. Couldn't they round it up to one-sixty and make it even?" Jacob joked as he merged into the next lane. It was Friday morning, ten days since the investigation began and the day after the execution of the second search warrant. "Shouldn't something worth that much be kept inside a vault and not someone's top drawer?"

"That's what Greene said." Leah pulled up an email from the appraiser which had only been sent an hour before. She scrolled down the message before locking her phone and dropping it in the empty cup holder. "What matters is that it's inside a vault right now. Lock and key."

"You think it was a gift?"

"That's some gift, dontcha think?" Leah said. "Perhaps, it was stolen? Though who knows from where. No one's claimed ownership of the necklace, as far as I know. No museum reported it missing."

Jacob hm'd as he rolled the car to a stop. The light recently turned red, which gave the detective enough time to check his personal cell without getting honked on. He had been receiving loud text notifications ever since he got behind the wheel. "This – "

A wide grin spread across his face.

There were only a few reasons why Jacob's face would light up like a Christmas tree, and Leah was pretty sure it had nothing to do with food or the Chicago Bears finally finding a franchise quarterback.

"A text from a certain medical examiner?"

Jacob tried to play dumb. "What do you mean?"

Leah made no effort to hide her smirk. "Dr. Isabella Swan?"

Jacob flailed, almost dropping his phone onto his lap. After quickly responding to the text, he deposited the phone into the empty cupholder; he drove off when the light turned green. He gave Leah a terrible attempt at a dirty look before directing his attention to the road and cars around him.

He must've been under the impression that Leah was teasing him.

Which she was most certainly doing.

"What? I think it's cute."

Jacob recoiled in surprise. "You do?"

"Sure. Personally, I don't see the appeal, but yeah, I guess it's… cute?" Leah tried not to laugh at the way Jacob squirmed in his seat. Clearly, the subject of Dr. Isabella Swan was a sensitive one. "So, what is it about her?"

"What do you mean?"

"What do you like about her?"

"She's cute."

"There has to be more than that," Leah said; she refused to let Jacob off that easy. She found his floundering particularly amusing, especially for a generally cool and collected guy. "What else? Do you like her personality? Do you like how she smells? Does she make you laugh?"

"Why do you care?"

"Am I not allowed to be curious?"

"I thought you didn't like her?"

"I never said I didn't like her."

After all, Leah barely knew the woman enough to determine how to truly feel about her; they barely interacted outside of crime scenes and the lab. Swan seemed like a pleasant enough woman, and she was capable at her job. It was just that… She didn't know, Leah never found anything special about Swan. She was a medical examiner, who lacked any sense of self-preservation, as demonstrated by the events of the past few years –

Okay, fine. Maybe Leah was being a bit unfair.

"I have no issue with her," she insisted. "She's fine."

Jacob scoffed.

"Oh, come on," Leah pressed on, tugging on the arm of her partner's coat, but not hard enough to distract him from the road. "You know enough about my love life, why can't I learn about yours?"

"For the record: I never asked you to tell me anything," Jacob pointed out. He stole a glimpse to ensure that Leah knew he was just messing with her. Her so-called glare told Jacob that she had. "I don't know what it is about her. I just do, I guess."

"Does she know?"

"If she doesn't know by now, then I suppose she never will." Jacob's chuckle was self-deprecating. "Apparently, I wear my heart on my sleeve."

"Yeah, but have you told her?"

Jacob gave a sharp laugh. "No." He shook his head. "Absolutely not."

"Why not?"

"Nothing's gonna come out of it," Jacob acknowledged with a half-shrug. He seemed at peace with the fact. Interesting. "We're friends, and that's fine. I'm good with it. Why complicate matters?"

That was always the peril of migrating from a friendship to something more romantic; Leah had her fair share of such instances, all ending in a boatload of awkwardness and heartbreak.

"Fair enough," Leah said. "So, it's only a crush?"

"Nothing more," Jacob maintained. "I got a little thing for her, but I'm not looking for anything serious. I don't mind the single life, and despite what certain members of my family like to believe, I'm not exactly lonely."

"Have you tried…" Leah trailed off, trying to gather the right words, "engaging in not the single life?"

Jacob snickered at the odd wording. "You mean dating?" Before Leah could give a snarky response, he added, "I mean, I had some dates here and there." He swallowed, expression turning grave. "Was married once, actually."

Leah cocked an eyebrow.

"You were?"

"Yeah, for three years." Jacob paused. "High school sweethearts."

"What happened?"

Jacob deeply inhaled, then slowly exhaled. "I kinda fucked up," he confessed, squeezing the steering wheel. He had a frown, seemingly still frustrated at the situation. "Okay, I really fucked up. I should've been more honest. About things, about a lot of things." He took a deep breath. "And my choice of profession didn't help."

"Did you…?"

Jacob cleared his throat. It seemed he already knew what Leah wanted to ask. "No," he said firmly. "No, it was nothing like that. On either end. Just didn't work out." He paused. "Irreconcilable differences."

"That simple, huh?"

"That simple."

Leah dragged her hands along the front of her thighs. "Would you do it again?"

"What?"

"Marriage?"

Jacob thought for a moment. "I honestly don't know." He then cursed under his breath when he realized that traffic was no longer at a standstill, and there were a couple of impatient drivers behind him. "If it happens again, it happens."

"Completely understand."

Jacob seemed to have wanted to ask Leah the same question; Leah could practically hear the question formulating in his mind. She was grateful that he not doing so, for she didn't know how to respond. She was still married, after all. She hadn't thought much beyond that, beyond a life without having Sam as her husband.

She never thought that day would come.

"How's Sam?"

"He's fine," Leah quickly said. Not that she would know. She figured since no one had called her with any bad news concerning her husband, she could safely assume that Sam was alive and well. Was he coming home that night? Who knows? He hadn't asked about dinner. He hadn't inquired of her whereabouts.

He hadn't said anything to her.

"That's good."

Leah wanted to share the sentiment and move on from the conversation, but her mind (and mouth) had other ideas. "I don't know what to do," she admitted, immediately regretting uttering such sad, pathetic words.

First of all: she was better than this.

Second of all: Jacob Black was a fellow detective, not her damn therapist.

"I wish I could tell you. I mean, maybe wait it out and see how it goes? Did he, at least, apologize for everything? That would be a good start."

"He said it was complicated."

"Well, shit."

"I just – " Leah balled her hands into fists. It was just so damn frustrating. "I've known this man for more than a decade, and now, it's like I can't read him anymore. I don't know what he wants anymore. For goodness' sake, it's my job to understand people, and I can't even understand my own husband."

"There's no need to be hard on yourself. Sam knows you're a damn good detective. I'm sure he's just working extra hard not to show anything that can be used against him."

"I already have enough to use against him," Leah argued. "So, what's all this hiding from me going to solve?"

"Not a damn thing?"

"Precisely."

The car ride was reduced to silence.

"So, about that necklace," Jacob said moments later, "I wonder if that has something to do with Jessica's association with the Olympic? I mean, they got money."

Leah was thankful the topic of discussion returned to work-related matters.

"But why give it to her?" she wondered. "With all due respect, I highly doubt Jessica held a significant position within the Olympic."

Jacob lifted his shoulder. "Hey, you never know…" His comment stalled as he looked at both sides of the road, then through the rearview mirror. "Not to change the subject again, but I've been meaning to ask: why the last-minute transfer?"

The question was unexpected, but Leah didn't shy away from it. "Apparently, I'm a bitter bitch," she casually replied, flashing back to that wonderful conversation with her former partner (that bastard) and captain (equally that bastard).

She was over it.

Jacob winced. "Ouch."

"To be fair, I was being one. At the time. But in my defense, he did catch me at the worst possible time. He called me not long after I found Sam with Emily. He wanted to complain about something that could've waited until the following Monday."

She shook her head.

"Now, did I have to lash out at him like the way I did? No, I'll admit to that, but in the end, everyone thought it'd be best for me to… work in a different climate. Still in Violent Crimes, but in another area."

In another area far away from Sam and her bastard-of-a-not-understanding former partner, who just happened to be an acquaintance of Leah's bastard of a husband – Her blood boiled at the memory of that entire ordeal.

"I see."

Leah shook away the unfortunate recollection. No, she wouldn't flood her mind with bad memories.

She was at a good place now.

Relatively speaking.

"There was no love lost," Leah confidently said. "Sometimes partnerships work, sometimes they don't. It is what it is." She dropped her gaze to her lap, a small smile playing on her lips; it was an honest one. "I don't have much to complain about you." She looked up and smirked. "At least, not yet."

Jacob grinned. "Yeah?"

"It's refreshing to be around someone who's competent, not that annoying, and doesn't take everything to heart."

"Not into the sensitive types, I see."

"Not into the behaving-like-a-five-year-old types."

Jacob's grin widened. "Ah, you don't think I'm five. I should take that as a compliment." He shared a heartfelt snicker with Leah before sincerely adding, "For the record: I like working with you, too."

Hours later, while in the passenger seat of the unmarked car, Leah took the time to read from Jessica Stanley's unofficially almost-finished autopsy report; it was provided by Dr. Swan, who had been gracious enough to give an update minutes before checking out for the night. "She died from cardiac arrest," she said. "Likely induced by an unknown substance." She looked up. "Poison."

Jacob didn't say a word.

Leah continued, "Estimated time of death, between 6:00 pm and 8:00 pm. All lacerations are post-mortem. DNA tests on the neck wound ruled negative. Rape kit inconclusive. No DNA found. Evidence of sexual activity found. Evidence of glycerin and hydro-something cellulose located inside the vagina – "

"Lube?"

"Seems so." Leah closed the file and folded her hands on top of it. "Nothing about when it was applied, but I'm saying, if you think about it, maybe it was applied not long before her death? I mean… you know."

Or it could've been post-mortem, but Leah was not ready to think about a potential case of necrophilia.

Jacob adjusted the car's gear and pulled away from the curb. "So, she probably had a hot date that night that got really hot, and she let him – "

"Or her."

"… Inside her hotel room to get it on, then shit escalated big time," Jacob finished. He frowned. "They couldn't find anything? No semen? No saliva? Hair? Fibers? Anything?"

"Nada." Leah reopened the file. "Here's the thing about the poison: it likely originated from the neck wound. No signs of any poisonous substance in her digestive track, inside the mouth or nether regions. The poison only traveled to the heart."

"So, she succumbed to the bite."

Leah figured as much. "The perp wanted to turn her?"

Jacob rolled the car to a stop at the red right. "I wouldn't say that. A vamp's bite is naturally poisonous. After delivering the bite, the vampire is faced with two choices: turn or kill you. If a vampire wants to turn you, he'll make you drink his blood before you die."

"No traces of foreign blood found in her digestive tracks," Leah quietly said, then when the horrible realization came to mind, she brought her hand to her mouth. "She wasn't revived."

"No, she was not," Jacob confirmed. He drove off when the light turned green, but then once he entered the empty interaction, he made a sudden U-turn, startling his partner. They were now heading in the opposite direction of their intended destination, the police station.

"Where are we…?"

"Change of plans."

The change of plans, Leah came to realize as Jacob pulled up in front of a familiar River North establishment, apparently involved one Mike Newton.

Mike 'Swiss' Newton was the owner of a popular Chicago upscale bar and nightclub and on the radar of any cop working in gangs or vice. He knew everyone on both sides of the law, but he was wise enough not to officially affiliate himself with anyone. He preferred it that way; neutral was safe.

"I know he can be a pain," Leah said to Jacob as she exited the car. She looked through the large windows of the La Dolce Vita. Despite the establishment opening only half an hour ago for Happy Hour, the place appeared packed from the outside. "But I seriously doubt he had anything to do with Dahlia's death."

Newton liked to keep his hands clean.

"Most likely not," Jacob admitted, exiting from the driver's side. He quickly locked the car and walked to Leah's side. "Just wanna see what he knows about the Olympic."

"Can it wait until tomorrow?"

"It'll be quick."

Leah checked the time. They were technically off the clock, but perhaps, considering who they were able to see, that might be a good thing.

"Does he know we're here?"

Newton wasn't one for surprise appearances unless it involved a celebrity.

There was a mischievous glint in Jacob's eye with a smirk to match. "Of course, not."

"Listen, if you're here about that lady found in half at LaPush, you're wasting your time," Mike Newton told the detectives in a very matter-of-fact manner, rolling his bluish-grey eyes at the sight of the unwelcomed guests standing under the threshold of his third-floor office. "I got nothing to do with it, and that's all I have to say about the matter."

The businessman then grabbed his desk mirror, scrunching his face as he rearranged a strand of brown hair that dared to fall out of place. From the way he was dressed, fully groomed with his hair slicked back, Leah figured he was anticipating a special appearance from something rather important.

Leah was the first to enter Mike's space. "Good evening to you, too," she said, taking a seat in one of the two chairs in front of Newton's desk. "Quite the incriminating statement, don't you think?"

Jacob pulled up a chair next to Leah. "I'd say."

Mike removed the cufflinks from the cuffs of his light-blue pinstriped and overly starched button-down. "I'm just saying," he said, rolling up his sleeves. "I know you're both working on the Dahlia case." He settled into the seat behind his desk. "And I just want to make sure that you know that I'm not into that. Whatever that was."

"Thank you for declaring your self-proclaimed innocence," was Jacob's rather cheeky reply. A shit-eating grin was soon plastered onto his face. He always liked to mess with Mike, and Mike always took the bait. "The Chicago Police Department appreciates your continuous cooperation."

As expected, Mike took the bait. "Go to Hell, Black."

While Jacob continued to taunt Mike with his facial expressions, Leah informed the business owner that, "We're not here to arrest you. We are only here to talk. Not even about what happened at LaPush."

Mike eyed the detective; he obviously didn't trust her (not that she could blame him). He then opened the bottom desk drawer and pulled out a cigar box, placing it on his desk. "You want one?" he offered, opening the lid. "Damn, I need a smoke."

The detectives declined the offer and took their seats in front of the businessman's desk.

"Long day?"

"I run a business, it's always a long day." Mike retrieved a cigar from the box and lit it up. "Enough with the small talk," he said, before taking a long drag. He leaned back in his chair, loosely crossing one leg over the other. "What do you want?"

"As my partner said," Jacob said, "we're not here for the Dahlia. Well, not exactly. I know you got eyes all over this city, so start talking."

Mike's eyebrows drew together. "About what exactly? If you haven't noticed, this city ain't small."

Jacob gave the business owner an unimpressed look. "The Volturi," he clarified.

Leah hadn't expected that one. She thought they were here to discuss the Olympic. Or Jessica. Or her maybe-boyfriend.

Mike's jaw slacked, almost allowing the cigar to drop from his mouth. Composing himself, the man sat up on his seat, placed his cigar aside on the ashtray, and folded his hands in front of him. This was serious.

"Shit." The office fell into silence until Mike spoke up again, releasing he wasn't going get out of this conversation unscathed, "Okay, okay. The Volturi – I dunno, they're just being the Volturi. You know how it is."

Jacob snorted.

"Very helpful," was Leah's deadpanned response. "Extremely."

"I didn't say I was finished." Mike leaned over his desk and dropped his voice, "I heard that they're trying to take over the blood trade, starting with the Northern route," he said. "Which is currently controlled by the Velasquez Cartel, who's in cahoots with the Olympic."

"The blood business?" Leah asked. "Like… actual blood?"

"No, cranberry juice," Mike snarked with the roll of his eyes. "Yes, blood."

Leah rolled her eyes in return.

"I knew about the Velazquez, but since when the Olympic got involved in that?" Jacob asked, leaning forward. "And – I was under the impression that they only did business out west after the St. Patrick's debacle?"

Leah was under that impression as well.

"Well, the Volturi's here, and everyone's collectively losing their shit because of it," Mike grumbled. "A couple of them even showed up here, trying to start trouble with some of my patrons." He frowned. "You know I do not choose sides; that's not how I do business. This club's a neutral site, and I like to keep it that way. I'm an equal-opportunity player until the day I'm six-feet-under."

"And that's why they called you 'Swiss.'"

"That's right."

Jacob's mocking of the nickname completely went over the businessman's head.

"Where's the action?"

"Around Midway," Mike said. "The Volturi's moving into that entire area."

Leah wondered if the increased "action" was why Cameron had mentioned a certain unnamed unit having an interest in the Dahlia case.

She looked at Jacob, then at Mike. "Hold up, I thought that region was controlled by the Giza Crew?" she said. "Had been that way for years."

"Yeah, until a week ago," Mike said. "Until the head of that crew disappeared to fuck-knows-where, which led to the complete collapse of GC. Now, since he's outta the picture, there's a power vacuum. The area's basically fair game."

"So, which three-letter agency's bringing the heat?" Jacob asked.

"From what I've heard, the FBI's been pretty quiet, but who knows how long that's going to last. There's some ATF action up north, near the border with Wisconsin. And there's a little squabble spilling over out west into Iowa, of all places, into James' territory – "

Leah cut Mike off, "I thought James was dead?"

The gangster was reportedly killed during a confrontation with the Olympic back in early 2017. The body was never found, but everyone had accepted his death as an undisputed fact.

"He is, and his girl's been running the show ever since," Mike said with a shudder. "The name's Victoria, and boy, is she something else. No one's crossing her, not even the Volturi. Well, I suppose, not until they get more reinforcements on stateside."

Jacob leaned back in his seat with arms crossed. "Does the James Crew have a stronghold in this city?"

Leah didn't believe so. The gang traditionally liked to operate outside of the city of Chicago. Or outside the entirety of Chicagoland, for that matter.

Mike shook his head. "Haven't heard anything about that." He stopped. "Actually, I do think they got a little something out near Midway."

Jacob slowly nodded as he sat up straight in this seat. "Huh," he said. "Any news about the Olympic?"

Mike cocked an eyebrow. "I thought we were talking about the Volturi?"

"Now, we're talking about the Olympic," Jacob said. "I know they're not the best of friends with the Volturi. Anything on them?"

"Define anything."

"Names," Leah said. "We need names. Government names."

Mike huffed. "Oh, come on, you know they don't go by their real names. Even their nicknames change every other year – "

Jacob raised a hand, effectively cutting off the other man's babbling, "Are you seriously trying to tell you that you don't know who they are?" he challenged. This was Mike Newton, after all. A man with wavering loyalties, questionable morals, and the ability to get information that not even the feds could get their hands on. "You?"

"I may have heard of them, but like I said, they change their identities all the time," Mike explained. "Listen, I've never seen them in person, only heard of them over the phone." He was lying, but neither detective called him out on it. "They know how to lay low. Low enough for me not to know their actual identities. Except for the boss. Everyone knows the boss."

"Who's the boss?"

Mike emitted a surprised sound. "You don't know the boss?"

Leah sharpened her gaze. "Tell us what you know, Newton."

She had a feeling who this boss was, but she wanted Mike's confirmation.

Mike took one look at Leah and tossed up his hands.

"Alright, alright… The name's Dr. Carlisle Cullen. He's running the entire operation, has been for a while – You remember that DEA bust from a few years back? The one where they found a bunch of dead bodies filled with bags of blood? Yeah, that was all him. He managed to send out ten large shipments before the feds got on his ass. Somehow, he managed to only spend a couple of months in the slammer."

The detectives nodded. Yeah, they both knew of the story. The Deputy Superintendent, whose son had been the lead agent for that case, was still ranting and raving about it. Unfortunately for everyone, Carlisle had ended up getting off easy, all thanks to the silver-tongued Queen of the Courtroom, Rosalie I from the House of Hale.

"… glad no longer working in Gangs," Jacob mumbled under his breath, then said in a clearer voice, "This squabble: is it only about the contraband trade, or does it also have something to with the never-ending drama between the two covens?"

"Covens?" Mike swallowed as he nervously shifted his seat. "What do you mean by covens?"

"Don't play dumb," Jacob warned. "You know exactly what I'm talking about."

Leah narrowed her eyes.

"Look, I'm not lying," Mike maintained vehemently. He wasn't scared of getting in legal trouble, but it did appear that he wanted to distance himself from whatever was going on with the covens as much as possible. That was understandable. "I don't know nothing about covens."

"You're using a double-negative," Leah pointed out, earning a sharp look from the nightclub owner. "So, I would assume that you do."

"Which one is it, Mike?"

"I don't know!" Mike exclaimed, flailing his arms thus causing his cigar to slip from between his trembling fingers. It was when he noticed his prized cigar on the ground that he realized what he had just done. He looked up at the slightly taken aback detectives, took a deep breath, and reached for another cigar.

"Maybe it's both," he eventually said, this time in a more controlled manner. "I don't know anything about covens or vampires. They don't talk about that shit around me, and I'd like to keep it that way."

"But you do know something about it, so that means they must've discussed the subject in your presence."

"Okay, yeah, but only in passing," Mike admitted. "I didn't really pay attention. I try not to involve myself with the supernatural. I have a hard enough time dealing with humans. I don't need to start anything with vampires or fairies or people who are half-man, half-wolf…"

"Werewolves," Jacob corrected. "They're called werewolves."

"Well, whatever they're called," Mike grumbled. "I don't mess with them either."

"Oh, you'd be surprised," Jacob said, smirking at the puzzled expression on the businessman's face. He glanced at Leah, hoping his partner caught onto the reference. Oh, she did. Not understanding why Jacob wanted to put himself in such a precarious position, Leah gave him the side-eye.

Jacob's smirk dropped.

Silence once again fell among the trio until Mike spoke up, "Hey, is this little chat over?" He cleared his throat. "Because, if you haven't noticed, I got a business to run. Got a big appearance tonight. So, if you don't mind…"

Jacob eyed the man, but he split his face with a grin. "Don't see why not," he said, standing up. "Thanks, honestly. You provided us with some good info. Thanks."

"Is there anything else you need – "

Jacob snapped his fingers. "Actually, one more thing," he said. "What's your opinion on the Dahlia murder?"

"My opinion?" Mike leaned back in his seat and took another drag from his cigar. "I haven't looked much into it, to be honest, but… people usually don't get killed like that. What happened to that lady was seriously fucked up."

"You think it was them?" Leah asked.

Mike lifted an eyebrow. "Who, the Volturi? The Olympic?" Before Leah could respond, he shook his head. "Nah, they're old school. If they'd killed somebody, you wouldn't even know about it until years later. Hell, maybe never. Whatever happened, that was personal."

Unfortunately, Mike Newton was right, and the detectives knew it. The Volturi's and the Olympic's admiration for discretion was the main reason why they were able to slip through both federal and municipal authorities' grasps for years.

The detectives rose from their seats.

"Thank you as always," Jacob said to Mike, both sincerely and out of jest. He knew how much Mike hated speaking to the police. "Have a nice day and try to stay outta trouble."

Mike waved off the detectives as they turned to leave. "Yeah, yeah, yeah…" he mumbled, crushing the butt of his cigar into the ashtray. "Call next time before you decide to pay me a visit, will ya?"