A/N: First off, thanks again for reading, following, and favoriting this story! I truly appreciate it. I know it's different, but being able to write different types of stories, relationships, and genres is what keeps me writing, or else I'll get bored. Secondly, I wanted to explain where this idea came from. In the CSI Companion book, Grissom's background was that his father was still alive, that his parents divorced, and that his father was in the importing/exporting business. Billy Petersen had commented that if the show ever explored that story that we'd find out that Grissom's father wasn't a nice guy. Then, of course, canon had to change that. So, that got me thinking about a story where he was actually raised by his not-so-nice father instead of his mother. And here we are.
Anyway, thanks again for reading.
Part 2: The Figurehead
Chapter 4
Wednesday, March 6th, 2002
~"Green Sally up and green Sally down
Lift and squat, gotta tear the ground
Green Sally up and green Sally down
Lift and squat, gotta tear the ground…"~
An old homeless man with a limp pushed a shopping cart down the dark avenue, under the neon lights, as cars rushed by on the slick street. Trotting along by his side was his mixed breed dog, Lucky, who hurried over to a trash bin and started sniffing. The old man lifted a lid off the bin and inspected the contents. Not finding anything he could use, sell, or give to his dog to eat, he dropped the lid and kept walking. Already stuffed into the cart were blankets, newspapers, magazines and books, bags of cans and glass bottles to recycle along with a transistor radio and a bag of clothes.
A jug of water was sloshing around in the seat next to his thermos of coffee. A greasy bag of fast-food wrappers containing half-eaten burgers was his dinner. He had a knife on his belt, a can opener and matches were in his dirty jeans pocket, a wad of cash were stuffed into the army combat boots that matched the jacket that he'd gotten at the Salvation Army. Around his neck on a chain were reading glasses and wrapped around his hands were ace bandages. The bandages helped his hands when they started hurting.
~"Green Sally up and green Sally down
Lift and squat, gotta tear the ground
Green Sally up and green Sally down
Lift and squat, gotta tear the ground…"~
His camper had been parked under the 405 overpass for the past two weeks. The shopping cart rattled over the cracked sidewalk as he pushed it past the auto shop, slab of concrete called an alley, and a grass embankment towards the camper. In the grass was discarded trash from the cars that passed over the bridge along with people illegally dumping random junk. What did they care? They probably thought the homeless who called the underpass home could use the microwaves and mini fridges despite not having access to electrical outlets.
Up on the freeway, he saw a van parked. Its hazard lights were blinking. Probably a flat tire, or a busted radiator, or serpentine belt. He'd been a mechanic once upon a time. He would've offered his services, but people had an odd way of not trusting anyone who didn't have a house to call home and ate what they'd tossed away. Getting to the embankment, he heard the van door slam shut.
~"Green Sally up and green Sally down
Lift and squat, gotta tear the ground
Green Sally up and green Sally down
Lift and squat, gotta tear the ground…"~
He stopped and looked up towards the bridge and saw movement. Someone was struggling to get a bag of trash over the guardrail. Shaking his head, he pushed the cart as Lucky started barking up at the stranger on the bridge.
"Shhh," the old man tried to quiet the dog. "No. Quiet. Leave 'em alone. We don't want any trouble."
He heard the rustling of the bag as it tumbled down the slope into the grass. It hit the fence that separated the grass embankment from the sidewalk. The van's engine hummed as the tires spun and drove away. As he neared it, he caught sight of something sticking out of the bag and stilled. It was dark that evening with no moonlight breaking through the overcast sky. Finding the flashlight in the duffle bag of clothes, he turned it on and saw what it was that was sticking out.
~"Green Sally up and green Sally down
Lift and squat, gotta tear the ground..."~
It was an arm. A human arm.
~"Green Sally up and green Sally down
Lift and squat, gotta tear the ground…"~
He dropped the flashlight as he backed away from the fence. Lucky kept barking. Down the road was a payphone. One of the few still left in the city. Hobbling over to the payphone, he called the police.
~"Old Miss Lucy's dead and gone
Left me here to weep and moan…"~
By the time the lead detective arrived on the scene, the responding police officer had the area taped off and the coroner's van was on-site. Before she arrived, she'd called for a CSU team. All she knew was that she had a dead body and that was all she needed to know to ask for a crime scene investigator.
~"Green Sally up and green Sally down
Lift and squat, gotta tear the ground…"~
Detective Sara Kramer parked the sedan behind the patrol unit. She finished her coffee before stepping out and grabbed her radio and clipped it to her belt. In the backseat she kept a shoulder bag with her portfolio, latex gloves and booties for her shoes, extra pens and field interview cards and all her documents she might need. In her blazer pocket she already had a leather pocket notebook and pen. She liked to be prepared.
As she approached the yellow crime scene tape, Officer Thomas Daniels was already documenting her arrival. "Hey, Daniels. Were you first on scene?"
"Me and Westbrook," he said as he pointed up.
~"Green Sally up and green Sally down
Lift and squat, gotta tear the ground…"~
Officer Westbrook was up on the overpass. She spotted a line of traffic, red and white lights for miles, as he sealed off an area of the 405. "That's where the body was dumped?"
"Yeah. Homeless guy saw the whole thing. Said a van stopped up there, dumped what he thought was just a bag of trash until he saw the arm sticking out of it. Called it in."
"Where's the good samaritan now?"
~"Green Sally up and green Sally down
Lift and squat, gotta tear the ground…"~
Daniels pointed to a camper parked under the overpass. "In there. That's his home. I told him it was illegal to park there. He said he'll move it in the morning."
"Don't have the heart to write him a ticket?"
"He did report the dead body. I checked the camper and didn't see anything suspicious. No blood or evidence of foul play, but I told him you'd want to talk to him. He said he'll have coffee ready. In all my years of working this job, he's the most accommodating witness I've ever had."
~"Green Sally up and green Sally down
Lift and squat, gotta tear the ground…"~
She almost smiled as she ducked under the tape and headed to the opening in the fence. CSU had yet to arrive on scene and the coroner, a woman named Allison Rigby, was taking the liver temperature through the bag. She knew well enough not to disturb the scene. Before passing through the fence, she stopped and slipped on a pair of booties and latex gloves. She knew the procedure, and if this was her crime scene she'd want everyone to follow protocol.
The grass embankment under the bridge was littered with garbage. There was an alley behind an auto repair shop where the fence started. It had an overflowing dumpster along with several tents that were currently abandoned. Further west was Manhattan Beach. East was El Camino College. Hawthorne Boulevard was the next major intersection up the road. This was a pretty busy intersection with a lot of activity no matter the time of day. And yet, this was where the suspect decided to dump the body. Granted, it was a dark corner, but there would be witnesses driving by and walking along the street.
~"Old Miss Lucy's dead and gone
Left me here to weep and moan—"~
"You got that Sara look."
At hearing the familiar Texas draw, she turned around and smiled at the CSI. "Evening, Nick. How was the, uh…" she gestured to Allison who was still huddled over the body. "Date."
CSI Nick Stokes grinned as he walked through the fence with a field kit in hand. "Good. Who told you?"
Allison spoke up as she said, "When you get your honey where you make your money, everyone knows about it."
Nick blushed as he sat his kit down. She repressed a smile at seeing his embarrassment.
"You doing okay, Nick?" she asked.
Nick snapped on a pair of latex gloves. "Just fine, Sara, thanks. So, tell me the truth. What do you prefer: being a cop or CSI?"
"Either way, we both get the job done. Except with being a cop, you get less sleep."
"That's the thing with being a detective. CSI works in shifts, detectives work cases. All hours of the day and night until you solve it, or…it goes unsolved."
"Let's hope that's not the case with this one."
"Is that why you crossed over? You wanted less sleep?"
She smiled as she told him while watching as Allison cleared the body. "I wanted to see it through; all the way."
"Pound the pavement, ask the important questions, and arrest the guilty?"
"Only if you can find me the evidence," she said as she shot him a look of challenge.
He took that challenge as he pulled on his CSI ballcap and said, "Oh, I'll find it. Me and Allison's roomie, once she shows up. She's late," he said, loud enough for Allison to hear him.
Allison stood and as she walked by Stokes, bumped him with her shoulder. "Sorry, didn't see you there," she said. "Just like the phone calls. You're non-existent."
"Now, now, hold up," Nick said as he stopped Allison from walking away. "Just because I haven't called you yet, doesn't mean I wasn't going to. I've been busy."
Allison shrugged off his hand as she said, "You weren't too busy before our date."
He sighed as he shook his head. Sara knew that whatever Nick tried to say would only make it worse. He was either not that into her, or he had another girl. "Where's Morgan?" Nick asked.
Allison let him drop the subject as she answered, "She had a date."
"Where? Las Vegas?"
Just then Sara spotted another CSU truck pull up and jabbed Stokes in the side and pointed. "She's here."
CSI Morgan Brody climbed out of the truck with a CSU windbreaker and field kit in hand. She was also on her cell phone. She was smiling as she talked, laughing while saying goodbye, before she caught the end of the conversation. "I'll talk to you later…No…I can't, I'm at the scene…Greg—" She nearly blushed as she turned away and whispered something into the phone before snapping it shut. When she turned around, everyone was staring at her. "What?!"
Nick was the first to ask, "Greg? As in Sanders?"
"DNA tech Greg?" Allison asked.
Sara only shook her head, saying, "Can we all focus on the scene now? This body's getting cold."
"Well, colder," Allison said. "She's been dead twelve hours. That's it for me. It's all yours."
~"—Green Sally up and green Sally down
Lift and squat, gotta tear the ground…"~
As the CSI's started on processing the scene, with Nick taking the body and Morgan the perimeter, Sara headed up the embankment. It wasn't a narrow incline, and it was easily scaled as she got to the top and spotted Officer Westbrook.
She asked, "Any looky-loos?"
~"Green Sally up and green Sally down
Lift and squat, gotta tear the ground…"~
"A lot of rubbernecking but no one stopping to see what's going on or asking questions," he told her as he stayed clear of the on-coming traffic.
~"Green Sally up and green Sally down
Lift and squat, gotta tear the ground…"~
Red flashers and cones were set up to steer traffic away from the dumping spot. She pulled a camera out from her shoulder bag and took photos. In the gravel were tire treads and shoe impressions. CSU would get all of that, but she wanted her own. She also took pictures of the embankment and skyline, before heading back down.
~"Green Sally up and green Sally down
Lift and squat, gotta tear the ground…"~
Nick had the trash bag off the body by the time she reached the bottom. The victim was a female, young girl. A child. And she was completely naked. Sara had the vantage point of seeing her back first. "She'd been beaten, tortured. There are bruises and scars all over her body. She's also pale. White as a ghost. How old do you think?" she asked Stokes.
~"Green Sally up and green Sally down
Lift and squat, gotta tear the ground…"~
He sighed as he said, "Too young. My guess, pre-teen. She barely hit puberty."
Walking around the body to the front, she saw just how young she was. "Maybe she got too old for him?"
Nick glanced up at her and she saw the sadness in his eyes that matched her own. "She was bound," he said as he pointed to her wrists. There were abrasions and bruises. Old and new from the varying degree of colors. "Yeah," he said with a nod. "I don't think she's seen daylight in a very long time."
~"Green Sally up and green Sally down
Lift and squat, gotta tear the ground…"~
"Kept hostage until he had no more use for her and then killed and tossed out with the garbage." She knelt down and examined the body more closely and spotted the flower earrings. "Earrings were the only things left on the body. Significant, maybe."
Nick pointed to her neck, saying, "Cause of death is a broken neck caused by strangulation."
"Are you the M.E. now?"
"She's the second."
~"Green Sally up and green Sally down
Lift and squat, gotta tear the ground…"~
Sara looked up at Morgan who'd spoken those words and asked, "The second?"
Morgan told her, "We worked on another case just like this, um…nine, ten months ago? Same spot."
Nick nodded. "Ten months. Your dad was the lead detective," he told her. "I know what we'll find. Not a whole lot. Raped but no semen. Either the perp wore a condom, or he used an object. We got prints on the last garbage bag, but no hits in AFIS. No hit on anything."
~"Green Sally up and green Sally down
Lift and squat, gotta tear the ground…"~
"That was last time," Sara said. "This is this time, and maybe he slipped up. Left a hair. Semen. We can see if this garbage bag matches the last one."
Morgan smiled, saying, "Extrusion lines."
"We'll run it through analysis," Nick said. "See if we can match the lines in the plastic. So far, Sara, that's what we got."
~"Green Sally up and green Sally down
Lift and squat, gotta tear the ground…"~
Sara wrote all that down in her notepad as she said, "It's enough. We now know that it's not a one off. It's a serial. Victims form a pattern, and hopefully, it'll lead us to a suspect."
Nick grabbed his camera to start taking pictures. "What if it's random?"
"It's hardly ever random," she told him as she started to leave the scene. She wanted to speak to the homeless man. "Killers hunt within their own backyards and ethnic groups. They have a specific type. Was the last vic a pre-teen too?"
Nick gave a nod. "Roughly the same age, yeah."
"Has she been identified."
"Not yet."
"A child's dead, and her parents never reported her missing?"
"Odd, isn't it?"
She'd say so. Sara left the CSI's to the scene as she crossed the pavement and headed towards the camper that was illegally parked under the 405 overpass.
~"Old Miss Lucy's dead and gone
Left me here to weep and moan."~
The old man was named Walter P. Hinkler. An auto mechanic until old age and arthritis caused him to not be able to use his hands. Disability checks weren't enough with the rent too high, and he had to choose between food and bills. Next thing Mr. Hinkler knew he was on the street. No family or friends to reach out to for help and no way of working, Mr. Hinkler was on his own. All he had now was his old RV and loyal companion.
Mr. Hinkler told her the same thing he'd told Officer Daniels. There was a van on the overpass, he heard a door slam shut and then someone dumped the body in the trash bag. He couldn't tell if it was a man or a woman. She asked if anyone said anything, and he said no. He didn't hear any voices and didn't see any faces. The van was blue, maybe black. It was dark, that was all he knew. That was it.
Walking through the doors of the Hawthorne Police Department, she made her way to the detective bureau located on the second floor. The Homicide Division was through a set of double glass doors, past the division for Robbery and the Homeless Outreach Center. Forensics was located on the first floor and that would be where CSI's Stokes and Brody would be once they got done processing the scene.
Her desk was at the end of a long line of cubicles. She had the only desk with a view of the outside as it was beside a window. It wasn't much of a view. The parking lot, wrought-iron fence, train tracks and then the roofs tops of buildings, the palm trees, and the Bank of America billboard against the cloudy night sky. She didn't spend too much time at her desk anyway.
Tonight was the exception. While she waited for the computer to boot up, she grabbed a cup of coffee and took in the map of Los Angeles on the wall and saw the cases piling up on the board under each detective's name on the whiteboard. She grabbed a red marker and under her name wrote 'Jane Doe, 03-2393.' The '03' was the month, March, and the '2393' was the last four of the case file number. Once they ID'd the victim, she'd replace Jane Doe with the name. Once the case was solved, the marker color would change from red, meaning active, to black.
Since becoming a Homicide detective eight months ago, she already had four solves. Batting a hundred, she didn't want her perfect record to come to an end. She wanted to find closure for the dead girl and stop the person from killing again. It didn't matter to her where she worked, whether it be there, in forensics, or in the big leagues of Major Crimes and RHD out of Parker Center, all she wanted to do was solve crimes and bring those who committed them to justice.
She'd told Nick the truth as to why she left forensics to be a detective. She couldn't let the victims go. The case didn't stop once all the evidence was collected. It was only part of the investigation, and she wanted to be there through the entirety. Even if it meant searching through the database and old case files at three o'clock in the morning when she should have been sleeping.
Sleep could wait. Her Jane Doe couldn't. The more time that gets behind this case, the worse off they'll be. The first 48 hours was make it or break it for any investigation. At least she had a starting point, and that was a ten-month-old cold case. Before she'd been promoted to Homicide, there had been a victim found under similar circumstances in that same spot. Her dad had been the lead detective.
Finding the casefile, she read over what'd been submitted. It wasn't much. Jane Doe, ten to twelve years of age, found dead under the 405 on Manhattan Beach Boulevard. The cause of death was a broken neck due to strangulation. Identifiers were flower earrings. The flower earrings were significant. She printed off the report and filed it in her own binder that would become her murder book for the case. She wanted to see her dad's notes, confer with him, and see if he had anything. There was nothing notated in the file.
Sitting at the desk, she watched the time tick by on the clock. She didn't want to go home. All she wanted to do was call her dad. She was antsy. The anticipation and exhilaration of catching a new case was racing through her body, inciting her mind. She couldn't stop thinking. She wondered if there were more victims.
She started a search, went back five, then ten, and then twenty years. Serial killers could be active for decades. Average age was between 15 and 45, with the majority falling between age 27 to 37. There were exceptions to that rule, but if their killer had been doing this for a while, he could be in his forties, meaning he would have been in his twenties in the 1980s. Searching unsolved cases first, she found eight possibles. None fit the criteria perfectly, however, there was one case that involved pre-teen victims who were strangled and the only identifier found on the body were flower earrings.
The suspect had been twenty-four-year-old Gilbert Grissom. There wasn't much in the database seeing how the case was from 1982. The victims' names were redacted, and the file—Redacted. The whole thing was off limits except to the higher-ups. What she had was a locator for the original casefile. It was stored in the archives section of Parker Center. Before she closed out the page, she scrolled down to see who the detective on the case had been. She sat up straight as she saw the name Annie Kramer.
She couldn't believe it. "Looks like this just became a family affair," she muttered before closing out the page and then doing a quick search of the suspect: Gilbert Grissom.
He was born in August of 1956, lived in San Pedro and currently resided in the city of Hawthrone, California. His address wasn't too far from the police department. He lived on the westside of the 405, north of the crime scene, near the airport. He'd only been arrested once back in '82. There was a driver's license. She brought it up, saw his face, and then saw the disability code attached to the license. Grissom was deaf.
She stared at the picture of the original suspect in the case and felt a tinge of anger in her chest as her hand twitched. She knew her dad was still awake. He was the Homicide Captain on nights at Parker Center. Her mother was the Homicide Captain on days. On her way out of the police department, she stopped by forensics only to learn that Stokes and Brody were still out in the field. The autopsy for Jane Doe was scheduled for that evening at 2100 hours. That meant more waiting. It also meant it was time for a drive.
Parker Center was the headquarters of the Los Angeles Police Department located in downtown Los Angeles. She took the elevator up to the top floor and maneuvered around the hallways until she spotted her dad's office at the end of a long hallway. The door was open, and she could see out the glass windows the lights that lit up the city of Los Angeles. They looked like stars in the sky until she got up close, then the stars sharpened into skyscraper windows, neon signs, billboards, homes on the hills, and the traffic that flowed on the freeways.
Los Angeles was actually a basin surrounded by the rolling hills of the Santa Monica Mountains, the San Fernando and San Gabriel valleys, and the Pacific Ocean. A basin was a depression in the surface of the land, meaning it was below the surface of everything that surrounded it. You fell into it, and at times, it felt like it was its own world away from the rest of the world. Very much isolated despite being such a big city.
Captain Brass was reading over a file when she stopped in the doorway and gave the jab a tap. His eyes lit up as he smiled, sat the file down, and said, "Sara, sweetheart, what're you doing here?"
The case was momentarily forgotten as she smiled. She missed him. "I've missed you."
He came around the desk and immediately pulled her into a hug. Even though he was the Homicide Captain, and her dad, it'd been months since they last saw one another. Christmas if her memory served her correctly. Time flew by sometimes, especially when you did police work. Days and nights bled into one another and then next thing you know it's been months since you last spoke to your parents.
"I've been meaning to call you," he said as he let her go to sit on the edge of the desk. "Your mom's been talking about getting together for brunch or something."
"Her birthday's coming up."
He grabbed the file off his desk that he'd been reading and held it up, saying, "Your partner cracked that double homicide."
"That's why he has the next couple of nights off. He worked really hard on that."
"So did you."
"Yeah, but it was his case. He was the lead."
He sat the file down and said, "That's not why you're here, is it?"
The man she called dad was Homicide Captain James 'Jim' Brass. He wasn't her biological father. Her father had gone missing twenty years ago, the same day her mother had been murdered. The case was currently unsolved. She barely had any memories of her biological parents. All she really had were feelings that only crept in during the night. An unease of the unknown. A fear of what might have been. A sense of gravitational weight that her mother's murderer was still out there. Her killer could've been her own husband, her father, but no one would ever know the truth.
"No," she told him as she glanced around his office. He had awards and accommodations going back two decades.
Her dad had moved to Los Angeles from New Jersey in '79. A Marine Veteran of the Vietnam War, he had joined the New Jersey police department in 1975. After divorcing from his first wife due to adultery, he moved to Los Angeles in 1979 to be with his girlfriend, Annie, who he then married a year later. He worked his way up to Captain, having served on the force for 23 years. Her mom, Annie Kramer, had also served with the New Jersey PD before transferring to L.A. after the fallout from some Vice investigation that led to corruption in the police force.
Both her parents wanted to get out and start over, together, and that was exactly what they did. All that was missing was a child. Annie couldn't have kids, but they wanted to be parents. Jim never had a child with his first wife, Nancy, but he heard later on that the man she'd been sleeping around with while married to him had knocked her up after he'd left. She figured that question of 'what could have been' followed him around until that fateful day when they first met.
Their decision to adopt her came after the murder of her mom. Annie had been the lead detective on the case. She said that the moment she saw her, maternal instinct kicked in. She knew she wanted to protect her, and love her, for the rest of her life. Be her mom. It hadn't even been a debate.
Her adoptive parents had saved her from the foster system. They gave her a home; first as her foster parents before making it official. The adoption was finalized on her fourteenth birthday. It was, by far, one of the happiest days of her life. They were also the reason why she wanted to go into law enforcement. They were both detectives, good detectives, and she wanted to make them proud.
That's why this was hard for her, she supposed. An unsolved case from their past was catching up to her now. She was their child and now here she was about to take the reins over and quite possibly do something neither of them could. Solve it.
"There was a body found tonight out under the 405 on the corner of Manhattan Beach Boulevard. Girl, a pre-teen, dumped in the black trash bag."
She saw it, the moment it hit him in the chest. Jim pushed out a breath as his face ran slack. "Another girl," was what he said, almost to himself.
She gave a nod. "CSI Stokes told me that you had a similar case about ten months ago."
"Yeah," he said with a slow, hesitant nod. "Yeah, it, uh…went cold very quickly. Killer left a lot, but…also a lot of nothing to compare it to."
"Prints?"
"Several, but no hits in AFIS."
"DNA?"
"XX. Female."
"Another potential victim?"
"Possibly."
"So, it could still be the original suspect in the case?"
His eyes narrowed slightly. She knew he was sharp. It wouldn't take him long to figure it out. "You've already made the connection—"
"To the murders that happened in the early 80's? Yeah. I did. Did a quick search for a similar identifier—"
"The flower earrings."
"It's redacted. Why is that?"
Jim stood as he rounded the desk and sat heavily in the chair. He swirled in the seat, debating. His eyes were everywhere except on hers. Finally, he leaned on the desk and told her, "It's redacted due to confidentiality. Sensitive material—"
"I'm going to have to see it—"
"It's sealed for a reason and only a court order can unseal it—"
"Get me a judge—"
"Sara," he cut her off with that strict fatherly tone that almost always put her in her place. He shook his head at her, knowing full-well she wasn't going to drop it. "You're so stubborn."
"Look who raised me."
That made him laugh. "Yeah," he said with a knowing smile. "Two dogged cops. It didn't help that you were already that way. You never learned when to quit."
"It's a flaw. One that's served me well."
Her dad was anything but a pushover, except for when it came to family. The man wasn't perfect, but he would do anything for her; she knew that much. "My hands are tied here—"
"We're going to have to work on this together, because you're not taking it from me—"
"I said that my hands are tied," he said. "Your mother worked the original case. Talk to her. She might let you see her old notes and the murder book on it. I've got nothing."
"No leads?"
"None."
"What about Grissom?" she asked again because he was avoiding it. Avoiding talking about their prime suspect when that should have been all he was talking about.
He couldn't look her in the eyes again. It was his way of distancing himself from something that he wanted to lie about but couldn't. Or at least not be forward about. "He's not a viable suspect—"
"How'd you know—"
"His prints are in the AFIS, they weren't a match."
"And since when do we discard a suspect based solely on fingerprints?"
"There's no substantial evidence—"
"Did you even look in his direction?" When he only leaned back in the chair and shook his head at her, she asked, "Why was he suspected twenty years ago?"
He shrugged, saying, "You'll have to ask your mother."
She was striking out across the board. Pushing up out of the chair, she went to leave. Stopping at the door, she told him, "I'm going to follow him."
"Wait, hold on—"
"You can't stop me. It's my job. I'm going to get some sleep and then tail him in the morning, see what he does, where he goes. Come over tomorrow morning. We'll have that brunch. Bring mom. I'll catch you up."
There were worry lines etching his face, but he knew she was right. There wasn't much he could do unless he seriously wanted to take her off the case. "I'll see what I can do." He didn't sound happy. She knew he would. If anything, he was now curious. She had questions and they had answers, but now they have more questions. And like he'd told her, he was dogged. And so was her mother. "In the meantime, talk to your Lieu. Get her up to speed on what you're doing. I don't want her to think you're going over her head…which you are."
"Will do," she told him before leaving the office.
TBC…
Disclaimer song used: "Flower" by Moby.
PS: The punk venue The Masque mentioned in chapter 1 was actually a real place in Los Angeles.