2010-04-02: Catch



Date: April 2nd, 2010


The case of the girl in the river comes to a close… with some unusual methods.



Iggy's Legendary Karaoke Bar

Iggy's Legendary Karaoke Bar is far from this descriptor on the outside — rather unassuming, really — but the exterior covered in cheap plastic signs advertising its songs and beer is just a barrier that locals know to ignore. They push in the door to an impressive bar stretching along the whole lane that leads to the most important, the backroom: the huge hardwood floored singing lounge. It's definitely a busy night for these types; whenever the door opens, the noise inside bleeds out, along with half the people trying to stay crammed inside. Conducting interviews in such a locale — hell, finding who to even start talking to seems to be set as a just as legendary task.

From this vantage point on the sidewalk directly outside, both who have arrived to tackle this task have likely come to the same conclusion about it.

But Laurie, being Laurie, who has his hands in the pockets of a much different, shorter coat than he usually wears, appears more content than stressed. "I can see why the unsub wouldn't be able to stay away." He glances over at Maggie, either for agreement or rebuttal. Though he showed up to meet the detective still in one of those impeccable button-up shirts, it's loosely buttoned and paired with jeans; that and the greenish gray jacket mark him as 'casual' — and having changed since she last saw him.

Neither an agreement nor a rebuttal, exactly, is given to Laurie. Instead, Detective Powers quirks her brows up and sends a vague, skeptical look to Iggy's Legendary Karaoke Bar.

Maggie is without the vest she's been wearing all day, turning her plain white blouse into something more casual, unbuttoned overtop what seems to be a t-shirt in a dull shade of blue — but that, and the addition of her beatup old leather jacket, is the extent of her wardrobe change. At least she doesn't look like she's here on official business. And speaking of that official business— "Well, what're we waiting for. Let's find out killer." Time to dive into this legendary task and its legendary sea of people. Taking the first steps ahead, Maggie hauls open the door with an outpouring of chatter and music. Her first order of business is to cut a path to the bar.

Once inside, the sound only increases, possibly destroying the ear-drums, but also lending some clarity as to what each is. The singing's all in the back; it's something by Carrie Underwood. Besides a few guys openly booing into their cupped hands, everyone seems to be enjoying themselves. Probably, those guys are, too. The bar, itself, isn't exactly easy to get to since that's where everyone's booze is coming from, and there's definitely no open seats. There's a large number of bartenders working, though, so one of them glances Maggie's way when she approaches. Glances her way — and gives her the 'one second'. In the meantime, Maggie can enjoy the guy next to her flirting loudly, and badly, with the chick next to him.

The detective's companion sets himself a few steps away, smiling here and there at giggling co-eds who bustle around to their tables. After some seconds, he also approaches the bar, but without commenting to Maggie, only leaning and waiting.

By and large, Maggie ignores the singing emanating from the back room — a grand feat, but such is her focus on the case. It's just noise that she filters out to get to what might be important. She winds in as close to the bar as she can get, with a murmured but polite apology to the flirting man next to her, and smiles briefly at the busy bartender. She glances once at Laurie during the waiting period, but her eyes also skim the crowd.

When the bartender's attention passes by her again, Maggie reaches into an inner pocket of her jacket and discreetly flashes her badge. It's slipped away before it has the chance to spook or intrigue any customers, hopefully. "When you have a second," she says, pitching her voice just enough above the Carrie Underwood impersonator's.

It's funny how something like a badge can make people suddenly have seconds they didn't before. The girl bartender quickly pats a coworker on the arm to instruct him to finish what she was doing and then she slides down to where Maggie waits. "Look, if it's the noise," she immediately jumps in with, "the guys next door just like to yank us around sometimes. You know, friendly bar competition…"

"No, my name is Detective Powers," Maggie explains to the bartender, speaking lower, more privately, now that she has the girl's attention. She leans into the bar. "We're— " A look to Laurie. " — investigating the murder of someone we believe worked here— a waitress." Despite the frank introduction, there's a small, softer frown on the detective's face as she pulls a photo from her pocket. It's one a few, but only one is handed to the bartender. It's that of the dead woman found in the river. "Do you recognize her?" A photo of Anders is next. "And him? He had a friend. Probably someone he would have hung around with here in the last few weeks or months. Do either of these photos ring any bells?"

The girl's glance shoots to Laurie briefly, waiting for one of them to crack a smile and reveal the joke. But when she looks back to find the detective pulling photos out, she balks. "Oh my God… it's Jessie, isn't it? She was supposed to work today…" Her eyes travel unwillingly to the photo she's been handed and immediately a hand jumps to her mouth to hide the hiccup. The photo of Anders she takes hesitantly, though she stares so intently she's probably attempting with all her might to make herself see something in it. Finally, though, she slides that one back. "We get so many people in here… I'm sorry."

"I'm sorry," Maggie says, first of all, and means it — but she has a job to do and that means asking this girl more questions. "We'll need to know who was working the day of her last shift, if you can get your manager or boss. But first— " She replaces the two photos with one sketch of a male's face. Generic and simple, it could easily fit the description of fifteen of the men at Iggy's tonight alone. It is, however, worth a shot. "We think a man who looked like this might've been watching Jessie. If you noticed her getting more attention from any one customer…"

They have their work cut out for them. Maggie turns her head to Laurie with a look that says as much.

But Laurie's looking at something else. With his chin slightly tilted up, he's looking above the heads of most of the crowd, and at the wall.

"Umm, sure," the bartender's saying, anxiously crushing the picture of Jessie with her thumbs as she stares at it. Finally, she has to turn it over to Maggie in order to be able to get past her stammering. "Jessie? Are you kidding? She had the attention of everyone. Boys, girls. She spent so much time up on that stage or in someone's lap, I have no idea how she ever got any drinks served." This testimony delivered, she eyes the sketch with the same ferocity as the photo of Anders, though with hopelessness already sketched around her eyes. "It's…" Her eyes raise to Maggie. "That's everybody here."

Maggie eyes Laurie curiously, but before she can follow his gaze, she's pulled away by the bartender's answer. She smiles regretfully at the young woman, taking the faces on paper away from her. "Yeah," she breathes out. "Yeah, we're working on it. Thank you for your help," she says, and though the girl's information was sparse, it's something. "We'll be in touch."

She turns, coming to stand next to Laurie. "At least we know what Jessie was like while she worked here," Maggie notes as she tucks the photos and sketch away into her jacket. "It sounds like she might have herself an unfortunately easy target for guys like our— unsub?" That's what Laurie is calling him, right?

As Maggie walks over, the sound of applause heralds the end of the current performance in the back. The girl who was singing flaunts her stuff for several more seconds at the front of the crowd before shoving past all the guys wanting to talk to her, she instead begins giggling with a group of others like her — blatantly making fun of her admirers. There'll always be another willing to step into Jessie's place, it seems.

To the strains of the next song picking up, Laurie turns belatedly. "Hmm? Right. Not just him. Bold, unattainable. The perfect object of desire for Anders, and prize for our mystery man. Dead, she could never challenge his… domain…" He's staring at that spot on the wall again, but only for a second before he abruptly steps around Maggie, simultaneously using one hand to gesture her towards this side of the bar and the other to… muss up his hair. "Keep watch. I have an idea." Like that, he spins about and pushes his way into the crowd until he's lost in bodies.

Watching the gaggle of girls by the stage, Maggie is almost lost in thought, her face grave as she figures out the next move in the investigation and considers Jessie, Anders, and the nameless killer — she almost misses Laurie's mussing of his hair and the gesture. She does a double-take, though, and narrows her eyes in confusion. She follows to the other end of the bar, only to lose him in the crowd. "Where are you— Miles!" She attempts to push through the crowd to keep track of him, but after a moment, decides to wait it out by the bar. Whether that's good judgement or against it is yet to be seen.

Nothing happens for a while; at least, it's nothing more than has already been going on at the bar since before they got here. People laughing, ordering drinks, Latin sounding chords beginning to swell. The wall that was the object of so much attention holds nothing more interesting than some placard about "Ultimate Asshole with a Microphone" awards. Looks like one guy's been pretty much sweeping the category for a few weeks. Lucky asshole.

Then it likely becomes even harder to hear yourself think because a drunkenly amused roar of recognition goes up when a few people realize they're about to be treated to — not just any old Latin song — but a rendition of Ricky Martin's "She Bangs". Surely, this can only be classic.


Which may or may not have anything to do with what Maggie's thinking once she comes to make a realization of recognition of her own. It occurs just as the song's intro ends with that determinate brass swing, and the lights obligingly flash blue for a moment to settle a spotlight on the man's opening: "Talk to me, tell me your name~" Yeah, it's Laurie. He wasn't there a second ago, but the consultant is now center-stage and clearly prepared to be just as lively as the chance song choice demands.

Amidst the lively Latin chords, Detective Powers shifts about, sliding past a patron or two to get a better vantage point of Iggy's every corner. Her watchful gaze only shifts from keeping a watchful eye on the crowd, honing in especially on men who pay special attention to the waitresses and those who are especially quiet.

It's not until the spotlight turns on that he attention goes to the stage again in any capacity.


Maggie flat-out stares at Laurie. "Ohyou'vegottobekiddingme," she says to herself all in one breath, only to be given an odd look by the man next to her. Brow all a-furrow, her hand comes up to her face, hiding half of it as a finger presses beneath her nose. She could be hiding a smile or a grimace under there. Most likely, it's both. She finds it a challenge, at first, to look away from the consultant on stage. It takes considerable willpower to remind herself that Miles works in mysterious ways. Bewildered, she skims the audience.

An audience which, unlike the detective, grows less and less interested in looking away. Laurie is in no way, shape, or form a professional when it comes to singing, but he sells every aspect of the performance from knowing the words, to doing the moves, and having time to spare a special look for the closest female spectators.

By the second verse, even the bar section of the club is beginning to pay especial attention. With Laurie's voice filling the whole building, of course, heads will turn in idle curiosity… but it's more than that. And the heads aren't turning back to their drinks, either. One booth of people pushes up to nearly stand on their seats, trying to start up a rhythmic clapping to the music.

Oh, and somewhere between Well, if it looks like love should be a crime and lock me up for life, Laurie's lost his jacket. Must be all that Latin shaking. If his goal was to get the entire bar's attention… he's succeeded.

But that's not enough, because, suddenly, as the musical interlude after that second verse takes over, Laurie rushes right down the stairs at the front of the stage, people backing up hurriedly to make space for what. What else? The grinning consultant hurries right over to that girl — that one who shunned all else earlier — and tugs her onto the impromptu dance-floor. Judging by what happens next, he may not be a professional singer, but someone has definitely taken salsa lessons. The girl's sexy enough to make up anything she's missing in steps. And the crowd couldn't be more crazy for it —

Except one guy. One guy. Dark-haired, built like a jock (or a douche, depending on your scale), he was rolling his eyes before — but now he's pissed. Pissed enough that he crushes his bottle when he lowers his hand too angrily while pushing determinedly to his feet.

The mood descending over Iggy's from the Ultimate Asshole with a Microphone seems to slide over Maggie's head as her sharp-eyed focus penetrates the crowd. Keeping watch. But even the detective's eyes are drawn to the stage again, if only because she finds herself wondering why someone like Laurie knows how to salsa dance … and just what his plan is.

And then, all of a sudden, she understands.

Something — someone — caught her eye on its trek to the stage. Her attention veers abruptly back to a single man who wouldn't have otherwise stood out of the crowd, not with a generic face like that. She pushes away from the bar, making a beeline for that man whose anger is practically palpable, so out of place amongst Laurie's new fan club. The detective is forced to shove past audience members in her hurry to reach him before he's out of her sights.

There's people who just want to have fun, and then there's the alpha dog. This prime example of the latter doesn't notice that his actions are drawing attention; he only plows towards the stage with clear intentions as to sorting out who's who at this place. However, the more people he has to push past to get there, the more he seems to think about the sheer amount of crowd — witnesses. He forces himself calmer and calmer until he can mask on some kind of a smirk-tainted smile. Veering off from a direct course, he finds the next couple hovering near the list of songs and elbows them aside. "I'm next."

Thank goodness for that crowd slowing the man down. Maggie, jogging as much as she can in the space closed by people, comes to a halt near the suspect. She sidesteps in front of the song list. No, she's not vying for a place on stage as a follow-up to Laurie's performance. "Sir, I'd like to have a word with you!" she's forced to shout above the music. "It's about a girl named Jessie Winger." Out comes the badge. It'd be easier if she could arrest him right now — but Maggie … Maggie follows the rules, and she has to be sure. "I have reason to believe you met her here and— "

He bolts. It isn't an instant decision; he first ignores her, then he looks pissed at Jessie's name, and then he spots the badge. Something much more decisive must've come out of Maggie's mouth to him, because she gets to about 'reason' and he shoves off from the podium and books it. Once again, he's against the grain of the crowd, but he has the advantage of not giving a shit whether he knocks someone over or pushes somebody in the face. It might not be very alpha to take off, but there's a certain determination on his face rather than fright when he glances back only once to track the detective's position. After that, it's a track star's focus forward as he darts right into traffic, over the tops of people's cars as they squeal to avoid hitting him, and towards the fence separating the streets from the docks beyond.

It's all about reason. The second he takes off, Maggie has even more of a reason to think he's guilty — and just maybe a reason to break out her handcuffs. But only if she can catch him.

Without so much as a glance to see what on earth Laurie is doing now, she takes off. The suspect didn't care about shoving past people and now she can't either, in her haste — but most of the crowd tries to shuffle out of her way, not wanting to get elbowed a second time. Her boots pound all the way out the door and Maggie follows the same course as the man, the traffic tripping her up for longer than she'd like as she cuts the risky path across the street — but she tackles the challenge of grabbing and jumping the fence as if it isn't one. For Maggie, it's not.

Her suspect's legs are pumping full-pace; he veritably hit the ground running and hasn't slowed an ounce. Tearing past old sheds and over the broken remains of other fences, he navigates the garbage of this not particularly well-light corner of the city like he has it memorized. A couple of dogs bark nearby. The sound of the traffic they interrupted begins to give way to the sounds of shoreline: the chug of motors and the lapping of water. Douchebag cuts under a broken wooden fence and breaks out into a stretch of concrete next to the river. Directly in front of him — docks.

Maggie, too, hits the ground running. Her long strides are motivated in one direction, seemingly no matter what's in her way. She scrambles under the broken wooden fences, stumbling for just an instant when a nail gets caught on her coat. If she stops even for a second to call in backup, she might lose him — so she runs straight for him toward him. Toward the docks.

"Stop!" Without missing a step, she reaching around her waist until her draws her gun. "You're trapped! Put your hands behind your head!"

He doesn't even turn, seems completely unconcerned about the fact that he's running towards what appears to be a dead-end. There's no slowing down; in fact, he seems to speed up as he gets closer and closer to the water. Only as his first footstep thuds against the wood of the dock does he go to glance behind him, at Maggie. He allows that deviance with a shining grin of triumph on his face and he passes the time by blowing her a kiss. Then he turns right around and hits beyond full-speed to run straight off the edge of the first dock and take a flying leap into the chilly dark waters. He pops up several seconds later and sweeping arms immediately start powering him further away. He's headed in a straight line towards a boat waiting, anchored, just beyond.

Maggie's momentum suddenly runs out as she finds herself coming to a complete halt between the concrete of the riverside and the wooden boards of the dock. Her weapon is raised in threat but it points at nothing but the skyline beyond the water. And the boat. He's getting away and she finds herself utterly unable to go anywhere near those dark waves. Beneath the loose folds of her leather jacket, she goes completely tense.

The same thought that ran through her mind much earlier today repeats itself. Why does it have to be the water?

Between the splashes of the man swimming to infuriating safety, another sound, beyond the sounds of the city, draws Maggie's head head to turn over her shoulder, eyes wide with anger, alarm, and guilt.

She has about two seconds to acknowledge that someone's coming at her before Laurie shoots by, having to push to run even harder to make up for the lost distance of being in the back. He follows right in the suspect's footsteps, past every plank of dock and, with the same lack of hesitation, arcs his arms forward and dives into the murky waters in pursuit. The man in front hears the splash and he whirls about in the water with enough surprise to briefly slow his escape. Quickly recovering his steam, he's still eaten up the time it takes for the distance to be closed.

Both swim top-speed for several more seconds before Laurie's able to get a grab at the perp. It's hardly an ideal battleground, bobbing in the middle of the water, but Douchebag gives it all he's got. Spun about by the grab, he's ready with right arm swinging. Laurie takes it in the jaw but doesn't let go.

A lot of splashing makes movements hard to track, but the suspect seems to have himself focused on getting in a throat-grip. It isn't exactly clear whether he's successful or not before both men vanish beneath the surface by their own struggling.

"Miles— !" Maggie — with no small amount of frustration at herself — can do nothing but watch as Laurie, too, goes diving into the water. In this limbo, she watches the splashing, the struggling, until both figures disappear out of her sight and into the sight of only fishes. Looking as though she's about to swear, her knees start working again and she goes running onto the dock, only to stop a foot from the edge.

The churning of the river makes it difficult to tell if that's natural or indication of the activity currently happening under that moving surface. For what feels like too long, what's happening is left purely to the imagination.

Then the intense splash and cresting as a person shoots out of the water, gasping for air and waving an arm in an attempt to balance out again. In the dark, and in the water, it's harder to see but… it's the suspect!

He's alone for a passing second and then another disturbance heralds the appearance of Laurie behind him, also sucking in the needed oxygen, but clearly in control of the suspect's other arm, which is wedged painfully behind his back. The process of forcing a guy through the water is slow, and he certainly makes a good deal of uncomfortable wiggling and a few attempts to twist away, but eventually the dock's end — and Maggie — are within reach.

Maggie stares and stares at that water, and not only because Laurie and who has to be a murderer are underneath it. A flood of memories freezes her in place again, save for one hand — her right, gun and all — that moves up, her wrist pressing anxiously into her forehead.

The sudden sound of life elicits a sharp, high-pitched gasp of breath on Maggie's part, overlapping those of the men in the water. Trying to pull herself together, she remembers that she has a job to do with the NYPD to catch a murderer, rather than stand here like an idiot. She rushes to the very end of the dock, falling to her knees. As soon as she's down, her gun is being holstered and she reaches out to pull on the suspect, using all her muscle and leaning back to haul him out of the water. It's a struggle; he truly is like a fish just out of water, only a hundred times more offensive. "Stay down!" He's only halfway out before she's forced to shove him down and pin one knee against his slippery back as she attempts to cuff him.

He's called her every name in the book by the time the handcuffs click into place, all keenly focused on her femininity. Once the bounds are secure, however, his tune starts to quiet as he processes what kind of situation he's in. After a moment of just his heaving breaths, it's changed entirely: "Hey, hey! Fine. You got me. But I haven't done anything, you haven't really got anything. Excuse me, that hurts."

In the background, Laurie grabs a pole and the nearest edge of the dock and heaves himself out of the water as well. He shakes his hands out after he's to his feet, then running both over his hair to slick it back. Though he's drenched through and through, now that he's done being immersed in the water, new blood springs to his lip. Watching Maggie until it's clear she's got full control over the suspect, he maneuvers further away from them down the dock.

Maggie leans down while she tugs on the handcuffs to make sure they're secure. "If you haven't done anything, why did you run straight off a dock?" Maggie asks, pretty darn rhetorically, and maybe just a especially close to his ear when she knows he can't do anything about it. She loops an arm under his. "Get up," she commands. "You're under arrest for the murder of Jessie Winger." That better be correct. She has no doubt it is.

She starts to walk the suspect off the dock to dry ground. It's really not ideal, them out here alone chasing down a suspect and she waits no longer to get her phone out and call for help. She's not going to wait here though, no, she heads back the way she came, to Laurie. She'll walk all the way to her car with this guy if she has to. "Are you okay?" To Laurie — definitely not to this guy.

"Cause you bitches are all the same," the perp responds anyway, which surely helps his cause as he's heaved to his feet. "You're comin' after me without anything. I don't know any ho named Jessie." He walks with her — sort of — with his shoulders thrown back and his heels digging in he's aggressive posturing all the way.

As they reach Laurie, he's just pulling back a grimace. His hand starts to jut up in support, possibly to somewhere that hurts, but he continues the motion to turn it into a lazy salute at Maggie. "Peachy," he grins instead. "I have had a really fantastic night." Running a hand along his jaw he tests the bruising, brushes away the blood and shakes it off his hand by his side.

"This guy attacked me," the suspect informs Maggie haughtily as he juts out an expectant chin. Well? Well? Miss Ready With The Handcuffs?

"He only went fishing." Maggie answers the man in the cuffs, and though there's likely another protocol on the list of those broken today, she ventures a rather cautious smile at Miles.

The vague shape of a car and headlights appears far to her left through a much more accessible part of the docks. The red and blue flashes ID it as comrades. It stops and figures start to emerge. "Okay, we're going to take a walk," she says to the man in hand. Nameless, but the questioning will come later.


Police Station

From mid-afternoon to plunging late into the evening: things are now back at the police station. But this time, two suspects are being carted away with charges of homicide in varying degrees. Once in the holding cell, Thomas Link — the spectacular fleeing suspect — flipped on Anders just as fast as the fishermen had on him. The two were at a denial impasse. But some creative interrogation suggestions by this presiding consultant, and their flawless execution by the overseeing detective, and finally details were out to commit them both.

That leaves every detective's favorite part of the day: paperwork.

Now that Detective Maggie Powers has been released to do hers, she's left to it for a while. But then, after a while passes, one of the sergeants close to the chief strolls over, tapping a hand on the side of her desk as intro to his approach and already thinking over his words while he watches her.

"Got a moment?"

No day can truly be called average in this line of work, but some are more standard than others. When things follow an expected order and follow the rules, Maggie doesn't mind paperwork so much. It's not her favourite thing in the world, but she's proficient at it.

Today was not standard, did not follow an expected order, and the more she goes over it, the more it doesn't seem to follow the rules. Head in her hand, Detective Powers is in the process of crossing out Ricky Martin in her report with a lip-pursing grimace on her face when she hears the sergeant. Her brows shoot up and a tired but pleasant look greets him. "Hm— ? Sure, of course."

"Thank you, detective," Sergeant Gartland is quick to grant her a fleeting but friendly smile meant to assure her that he isn't there for anything serious. Still, he does glance around to see who else is hanging around before he settles himself with a casual lean against the edge of her desk. His arms come to lightly cross in front of his chest, several fingers playing with the corner of the hat he's holding.

"I wanted to get to talk to you, you know, off the record and all," he prefaces, delaying the news he's yet batting around in his head to put into the perfect sentence. Finally, he just spreads his fingers and declares, "Chief has asked Mr. Miles to stay on as a full-time consultant. Not just case-by-case, not just serial. The rumors were partially right — we weren't sure we had the funds for this, but Miles wouldn't even hear the offer until his pay had been reduced." He rolls his eyes to the ceiling and gestures to wave this away as 'one of those Miles things' that should not be delved into further.

Eyes back on her, "My point is, Maggie… that this case was supposed to be one of the determining factors. Like a test run." He taps two fingers against the report she's been working on.

Wide eyes take this news in. "Huh … I see. That … explains a few things," Maggie smiles at the sargeant before she gives a sigh and leans back in her chair, sobering fast. "Well, about today. On the record? My report is a mess because of Miles. He didn't follow protocol, he runs with ideas without telling me what's he's planning, and he goes above and beyond his station. Off the record?" She sets her pen down beside the half-finished report, looking down at it before she regards Sargeant Gartland beneath lifted brows. She is, obviously, about to continue, but there's a long pause before she manages to say: "I wouldn't have solved his case half as fast without him."

Gartland smiles grimly, what he can offer for her honesty. "Screwing the record, I like closed cases," he is forced to admit. "But I'm not the one anybody has to impress. Chief'll make his decision either way. What I'm coming here, talking to you for, is that… should a certain decision be made, well. I can have push in other directions. Some consultant on the team, doesn't mean he has to be anywhere near this." Another gesture indicates Maggie's desk, and presumably her area of assignment. "You say the word to me now, Maggie, and I'll go in there armed for asking that he get transferred around the station. Somebody else's problem." Another bit of a smile pokes out, hopeful in watching her. "Your reports go back to looking less like a co-ed's rap sheet."

Frowning across lips that are really better suited to smile, Maggie leans an elbow onto her desk again and presses a few knuckles against her cheek. She's thinking, weighing options, that's for sure, and all in all looking somewhat annoyed that it's come to a decision that she has to make. Or not make. "You know what— " she starts up after a long spell of deliberation. She lowers that hand to reclaim her pen, ready to keep on writing the report that looks like a co-ed's rap sheet. Her focus returns to the papers instead of the sargeant. Where was she… salsa dancing? "Don't bother. What happens… it happens. I'll deal with it."

Her concerned hovering sergeant sucks in a deep breath at that, perhaps warding off some more hasty reply he'd been wanting to make. He brings his hands to chin and rubs carefully before pushing off to standing straight away from the desk. "We're keeping an eye on that one. Honestly, I don't know how those behavioral types do it — thinking like a killer, going that deep undercover. Hell, gettin' injured like that. Some of us… think it's just a matter of time. So. Anything troubling you… let me know." He leans in to give her a brief, just professional pat on the shoulder, "You do good work out there, gal. Take care of yourself." He pulls his hat up and waves it at her, "Have a good night." And then he's off to his own.

"You too, Sargeant. I do take care of myself!!" Maggie calls out lightly, thinly masking a reminder: she can take care of herself and she can take care of the Miles Situation.


Planting her head back in her hand, Detective Powers gets back to work.

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